


Like Someone Who Would Know Her Own Mind

by Lucretiassister



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Poldark AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 59,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: One rainy evening in May, Ross Poldark offers some help to a young stranger in need. Over time she grows to be his invaluable assistant, his trusted companion, and eventually, his sexual obsession.





	1. Wet Bus Stop

_Cornwall,  May 2012_

Ross Poldark drove the black pickup north in the dimming evening light, trying to ignore the jarring squeak that followed each slap of the wipers on the windshield.  

He was tired. Tired of the endless spring rain that had turned his fields to mud, tired of the depressing suburban sprawl that was threatening the once-sleepy Cornish countryside of his youth, and tired of the oppressively cheerful tourist trade that was exploding in the villages along the seaside. And he was tired of everyone telling him what a mistake it was for him to have come back to Cornwall at all.

But mostly his body was tired from working hard all day on the derelict farm he’d recently inherited from his father--intense physical labor that had yet to yield any tangible results.

He’d been able to get to an Off-Licence before heading home and the cheap bottle of Grant’s that lay on the passenger seat would be his well-deserved reward.

Except for loading purposes only, he disliked driving the old truck--also inherited from his father. The body was still in good repair but it had recently started overheating, and while Ross suspected it was a head gasket, he had neither the money nor the patience to address this now. He’d driven to Redruth to buy feed for the stock and had been half way home when he remembered anything stashed away in the liquor cabinet had been finished the night before. Of course he could find a shop closer to home but he’d run the risk of running into someone he knew. Besides, it seemed everything was a specialty shop these days and what he required was indeed nothing special. Ross had no one waiting for him so he had turned around and drove back to Fore Street to find the Bargain Booze he’d passed earlier. The name said it all.  

Now he glanced at the clock on the dashboard--20:24. Though it was still early, he hoped by the time he got back, his housekeeper, Prudie, would have slunk off to her room to watch a little telly, probably with her own bottle--though he knew her to prefer gin to whisky. Then he might relax in peace by the fire. If he were going to be miserable, he wanted to feel that way alone, without any witnesses to further remind him of just how low he’d sunk.

Barely in his mid twenties, Ross felt too young to be the sole owner of a farm, yet that was exactly what had happened since his father died. And the farm, Nampara it was called, was failing. The fields as they had been left, produced almost nothing and the buildings, of which there were quite a few, were in serious disrepair. The land itself though was quite valuable, due to its location near the sea. His father, never a wise manager of his own funds, recognised this and over the years had taken out loans and mortgages against the property. Now any earnings from Nampara would immediately have to be funneled into loan repayment. But so far that hadn’t happened, for there had been no profit to speak of for some time, and the crippling debts were mounting.

Ross had not yet given it a year.

He’d only just returned back to Cornwall the previous summer. Until then, he’d been a soldier, most recently based in Cyprus. He and his father had been relieved at such a posting, for it was certainly safer than being deployed into a more violent conflict zone. But in the end Ross had found himself in enough danger, and while sent in to quell a riot outside the base, he and some army comrades had been badly wounded. Vehicles were set on fire, equipment was destroyed, and in the fracas, Ross suffered head and ankle injuries. He found himself in hospital for weeks recovering before he was discharged from service altogether.

And while he was laid up and facing the end of his brief army career, that last month in Cyprus had been a most heartbreaking time for him in other ways. First he received word from Elizabeth, his girlfriend back in Cornwall, that she was marrying another man--not just any man but his own uncle. His _uncle_.

Then shortly thereafter, Ross learned his father had died.

Both had been severe blows.

 _I swore I’d give it a year. A full year_ , he reminded himself as he drove on.

He’d slowed the Ford Ranger just a bit where the road curved west, when he caught sight of a huddled form at a partially covered bus shelter on the right. He was pressing his boot to the accelerator again when it struck him he may have seen the same body waiting earlier--nearly twenty minutes before when he was driving the other way. The only bus that stopped there was the #47 and Ross was pretty certain it didn't run this late, or if it did, it only came on the hour so another wouldn't be along for quite some time. He glanced in his rear mirror to see if he could still see the would-be rider. The little figure--he couldn’t make out if it was a girl or a boy or a very small adult--turned its body and Ross saw thin pale arms holding a small wriggling mass of black fur.

He also saw the wet, white shirt smeared with blood.  

Perhaps it was the soldier in him, immediately alert and responsive when danger seemed imminent, that caused him to act. After just a quick glance in his mirrors, he swung the truck around and headed back for a better appraisal of the situation.

He pulled over, careful not to splash in the puddle that had formed along the road, and called out to the passenger side window into the rain.

“You okay? You look like you need help,” he said. He saw the figure was indeed a child. The body was thin, but the round face was still so young that it did not yet betray any distinctly feminine or masculine features. A black knit beanie set off wide blue eyes, too big for such a small head; some wisps of reddish blonde hair escaped and clung in curls to the flushed face. The child’s head turned, and Ross then saw the long plait down the back, the only evidence this might be a young girl.

She was wearing what looked like odd pieces from a school PE kit. The shorts seemed very short on her gangly legs while the t-shirt, soiled with dirt and blood and now wet from the rain, seemed a bit too long. She was a most pitiful looking creature.

“This is a bus lane, sir. You’ll block the bus,” she said simply.

“There isn't one coming, I’m afraid. Didn't you read the timetable?”  

She gave one quick eye roll towards the posted time table that first had been scratched over with a sharp object, then written on with a black marker so all that could be read now was ‘ _Get the fuck out.'_

“Your...dog? Is it okay? Where do you live?“

She seemed to resent his authoritative manner and looked directly at him again. Ross read contempt, fear, and anguish burning in her wide eyes. Finally she spoke again.

“Illogan.”

“You’re a bit out of your way. How’d you get here?” He was trying to be less patronising and perhaps even friendly, but was aware that regardless of his words or tone, she was wary of his attentions and looked away from him.

 _Smart girl,_ he thought. _And why should you trust a perfect stranger?_

“I was off lookin’ for Garrick, he’s my puppy, and I got a bit lost,” she began and paused. She courageously looked up from her sodden trainers and into his dark eyes fixed on her. Ross’s concern must have come across as genuine for she suddenly decided to let it all out.

“I thought he’d run away and maybe got lost but it turns out those dickhead boys took him and were, well, I don't know what they were plannin’ on doin’, but they hurt him. Cut his tail anyway. Don't know if it’s worse, like on the insides, I mean. What if they kicked him? He’s only a puppy! Why would anyone do that?”

Ross was relieved the blood on her shirt belonged to the dog and not her.

She clutched the wet, whimpering beast tighter to her. While she expressed surprise at such a horrid act, Ross somehow sensed that thus far in her short little life, the girl had seen worse things.  

Just how old was she? He couldn’t tell, based on her scrawny form he guessed around eleven.

“But _you_ are not hurt?” he asked.  

She nodded solemnly. Blood from the dog’s tail wound had got on her hands, and one at a time, she wiped them back on his fur.

“You know there are laws about harming animals. We should ring the police,” Ross said.

“No! Please don’t make any more trouble. Last time I told the police--when our window got broke and I saw who done it--the boys just came back and wrote nasty words on our door. Then my dad hit me for bringin’ that on.”

“Your father hits you?” Ross asked slowly. He wanted to make sure he’d heard this correctly.

“Not always, not since I’ve gotten faster and know how to stay out of his way. He works nights now so I don’t have to see him much.”

 _There are laws against child abuse and neglect too_ , Ross thought.  

“And your mother?”

“I don’t have a mum. She died.”

The situation had instantly become more complicated. Ross thought someone should contact social services on the girl’s behalf but he certainly couldn't do it now while she waited. No, that would have to be done at a later time. He considered ordering her a taxi but no driver would allow a muddy, bleeding dog into their cab. And leaving her there was out of the question--it was still raining and was steadily growing darker.

“I’m Ross Poldark by the way. I don’t live too far from here. What’s your name?”

“Demelza Carne,” she muttered. She still wasn’t sure of him.

“Look, you shouldn’t get into my car but I wish you would. I can take you home. I’d like to help you.”

She looked up into the rain and then down the empty road, biting her lip as she thought. She apparently saw she had no other option and without further hesitation, hopped into the truck. He shoved the bag with the bottle under the seat but not before she caught a glimpse of it. The wretched dog was settled on her lap while she struggled to click into her seat belt. Up close now Ross could see just how bony her wrists and exposed knees were.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, his hand on the gear shift.

“I was supposed to buy groceries with the money my dad left but it went missin’. Luke--he’s my brother--says he didn't take it but suddenly he has a new nano set. He shouldn't lie and waste our time while we’re still lookin’ for it. I hate lies!”

_So there’s nothing to eat at home._

Ross was moved that she had not yet been so hardened by the cruel world that she still found lies offensive. But it wouldn't be long before such innocence was crushed. What might a young girl be driven to do for money, for survival?

He sighed. The bottle and an evening of solitude would have to wait.

“Demelza, I’d like to take you to my house. I don’t live alone--I have a housekeeper named Prudie.”  It would have helped if Ross could describe her as a kind, sweet woman but he knew that would be a lie. “My farm is about seven miles up the road and we can take care of your dog first then you can get something to eat. After that we’ll take you home?”

“Alright,” she said and brought the grimy dog to her lips for a kiss.

“Does he have fleas?” Ross thought to ask.

“No!” she answered, clearly insulted. “Do you?” she quipped back, looking him up and down.

He laughed and realised he was in a rather grimy state himself. He had gone off to pick up the animal feed without much care for his appearance; he hadn't changed out of his work clothes after spending the afternoon resetting the stone wall near the north barn. And everyone else at Colburn Feeds at Redruth looked like a farmer too.

“What’s that smell?” he asked suddenly. “Is that petrol?” He’d finally pulled back out into the road and swung back north again.

“Yeah, they splashed some on Garrick.”  

“Did any get on you?”

“A little on my arm but nowhere else.”

“Are you sure?"

“Yes, it’s just on his back, not me. And I grabbed him away before they got anymore on him.”

 _Or set him ablaze_. Good god, he wanted to find these boys himself and knock some sense into them. If they were harming animals now, what violence would they grow into next?

 ----

“Prudie? Prudie!” Ross bellowed into the dark house. The faint murmur of voices and laughter coming from behind the bedroom door down the hall suggested his housekeeper was watching telly. There really wasn't any reason for her to be living-in anymore, not since she was no longer providing care for Ross’s infirm father. It wasn't as though she and Ross kept each other company or that she served the house or the farm after hours in any way. She’d usually put together some passable supper for him, then shuffled away to her room, pretending he didn't exist.

Ross strode through the corridor, dripping rain and trailing mud on the old stone floor, then banged on her door. He’d waited hardly a moment before he jerked it open.

“Captain Ross?” she said sleepily from her armchair in the corner.

“I need your help. Now. Find me a change of clothes.”

“For you, sir? Are you wet? Why don’t you...”

“Get them myself?” he asked her, unable to hide his frustration that was quickly turning to a barely contained fury.

She thought better of finishing her sentence and got to her feet.

“Something small, for a child…and dry towels.”

“For a what?”

Before Ross could hear anymore of her reply, he turned and rejoined the girl standing under the eaves in an hopeless attempt to stay dry.

“Right,” he said to her. “You’re not going to like this but we need to rinse this petrol off you and your dog before we do anything else. Even residual fumes can be very dangerous, you know.”

She nodded silently and followed him across the grim yard beyond the house to one of the old outbuildings. A deep sink stood on a crumbling concrete pad, barely covered by a cracked, corrugated fiberglass roof. Foul smelling buckets, tools caked with mud, and a deflated tire leaned against the wall by the open door. It was a sorry sight.

“This will be cold but once we’ve given you a rinse you can get warmed inside. Prudie, my housekeeper, will help you.”

“Garrick? Can we do him first?” she asked.

“If you’d like.” Her loyalty to her dog was commendable. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d seen such friendship. Did this make her a generous soul or a foolish one?

Demelza held the dog by the scruff in the sink while Ross rinsed with the hose. The water ran rust-brown from blood and dirt, and the beast--who had already looked pitiful--was even more so once drenched. Still he looked up at the girl with wide eyes and only let out the slightest whimper, somehow trusting her intentions. Once he was washed down, they examined his tail and saw the cut was not too deep.

“I think if we bandage this, he will mend well enough without needing to seek a vet,” Ross reassured her. They rubbed the dog down and wrapped him in a dry rag, which he immediately wriggled out of. He shook his fur and turned in a few circles before lying down to lick at his backside.

“Now you,” Ross said. He felt his arms brace in sympathy for the cold dousing she was about to receive. Best to do this quickly.

“Give me that hat,” he said.

She hesitated but he waited for her to hand the beanie over, then gave it a sniff.

_Petrol._

She had been splattered after all. Thankfully none had gotten on her face or eyes.

He ran the hose first over her arms where she’d been holding the dog, then he lathered her up with the strong smelling bar of carbolic soap. He tried to remain steady in his strokes--the same sort of reassuring firmness he would have used while bathing a lamb. She said nothing while he rinsed her off but soon began to shiver violently.

“I’m sorry we have to do this.” He pulled her by the shoulder, and without undoing her plait, gently bent her head over the sink.

“Jesus!” she gasped as the cold water ran over her head. “That’s fuckin’ cold!”

“Almost done,” he said and gave her hair a sniff.

He’d tried not to wet her top but it had already been soaked through by the rain and clung to her skinny form, slick and transparent. She didn't seem to be wearing any vest underneath but it wouldn’t have made a difference; there was nothing to suggest developing flesh on her flat sexless front.

Precisely at that moment Prudie came out with a towel and an armful of odd old clothes. She looked at the situation and threw one hand up in dismay.

“And just what the devil is goin’ on here, Captain?” she began.

“This is Demelza. She needs our help. Take her inside and see she has a hot shower,” he ordered.

Demelza looked worried about leaving her dog and going into the strange house with the woman, but Ross gave her an encouraging nod.

“I’ll see to Garrick, don’t worry,” he added for the girl’s benefit.

\---

When Ross reentered the house nearly thirty minutes later, Demelza was seated at the kitchen table humming to herself. She did look cleaner--her plait had been undone and her wet strawberry blond hair had been combed out smooth. She was now wearing a t-shirt that once had been black but had long since faded grey from too many launderings. When she sat up, he saw  _Speak Dalek to Me_ was written across the front.

Ross smiled. The shirt had been his when he was a teenager; he had no idea where Prudie had found it.

The shirt went almost to her knees so he couldn’t tell what she was wearing underneath it. He quickly grew embarrassed at having speculated about that and looked away from the girl to the food that sat before her. Soup from a tin and frozen fish fingers that had been microwaved. She seemed content with the meal and ate steadily. The dog, tail newly bandaged, was sitting in her lap at the table.

“Where’s Prudie?” Ross asked. He did not approve of the dog in the house, and certainly not at the table, but figured this wasn't the pressing battle to be fighting at the moment.

“The rest of my things are in the tumble dryer, she’s gettin’ them,” the girl said stuffing another fish finger into her mouth. “Does she always talk to you like that--I mean, talk back to you?”

“Only when she doesn't like what I’ve asked of her. She’s known me since I were a boy so maybe she thinks…”

“Why did she call you captain?”

“I’ve been in the army.” It seemed like a lifetime ago to him. Ross never had made captain before he was discharged--that had been his father’s rank years before--but Prudie couldn’t be bothered to keep that detail straight, no matter how many times she’d been corrected.

“Are you ready then? To go home?” he asked.

“Whenever it’s convenient for you, Captain.”

“You can call me Ross. Won’t your family be missing you?”

“I doubt it, Mister Ross.”

He looked at her again, her head bowed over her soup spoon. Somehow despite all that had happened to her that day she was smiling. Would she still be once she returned home? He had a sudden thought and spoke without fully weighing the idea’s merits.

“Demelza. I’ve been thinking...I need help with the stock and perhaps you'd like the work? You could come after school or on weekends? That is, if your family can spare you and you’ve the time…”

“This is really a farm? And you have animals?” she asked brightly.

“Yes, a few cows, not as many as we used to, some pigs, goats.” He recently sold off the last of the sheep and had no regrets that that chapter in Nampara’s history was closed. No more smelly lambs warming by the stove.

“Any horses?” she asked, almost dancing with joy now.

“Just the one,” he smiled gently at her.  

“Can I see her? I love horses, ‘course I don't get to see them much. Only on school trips really. I did learn to ride though--when I was a girl.”

He struggled to contain a laugh at the thought of this little waif nostalgically referring to her younger days.

“How old are you Demelza?” he asked.

“I’m thirteen,” she said proudly.

He supposed he should have asked that before he rubbed her down and soaked her under the hose. Did it make it better or worse that she was officially a teenager and not a small child? Well, she was still small but was older, and perhaps wiser, than he had given her credit for.

 _She does seem to know her own mind_ , he thought.  

“You can see the horse on the way out. Come when you’re ready,” Ross said.

\--

They had agreed to let the dog stay on at Nampara for a few days until he was better healed. It had been Demelza’s idea--she suggested that Garrick might be worried about running into those boys again. Ross recognised what she wasn’t able to admit aloud, and although he didn’t like the idea of keeping the scruffy creature around, he felt she was probably right. He found it curious though, that as attached as she was to the dog, she’d be willing to leave him behind with a stranger.

They also agreed Prudie would accompany Ross when he drove Demelza home to Illogan. She wasn’t happy about the upset to her evening routine but Ross was insistent he shouldn’t turn up alone with the girl. He somehow felt it might come across as less questionable to have a middle aged woman there with them, as if she’d present as a proper chaperone. Well, she’d be better than he as a single man in his twenties anyway. Prudie reluctantly let Ross take her car, and for most of the drive, she huffed and sighed loudly to register her protests, before falling asleep across the backseat. At once she began to snore.

Demelza gave a little giggle, then put her hand to her mouth quickly lest she be seen as rude. When she saw that Ross hadn’t gotten angry but instead gave a soft chuckle along with her, she let her hand go and allowed herself one last laugh.

It was dark when they pulled up to the Carnes’ narrow terraced house on Wesley Road. Wedged in between its neighbors, it was smaller than the surrounding houses but just as shabby. Two grimy windows, stacked over a bigger one below, looked out on the street but they added no character to the grim facade. In the poorly lit street light, it was hard to make out the exact color. The top seemed to be a faded salmon color while the bottom a duller grey stucco.

Knowing what might occur to this girl once she entered the place, Ross had an impulse to turn around and drive her straight back to Nampara. It passed in just a moment, and as she stepped out of the car on to the dark pavement, he leaned across to speak to her from the passenger window.

“We’ll see you Saturday, then?” he asked, trying to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing both by leaving her, but also by engaging her to return on the weekend. “Do you need Prudie to come get you? To speak to your father maybe?”

“No, I can manage the bus. Tell Garrick I’ll be back again, won’t you? He might not understand why this is best, you see. Bye Mister Ross, thank you, Prudie,” she said and began to make her way up to the house. As she moved, her spindly legs performed a sort of inelegant dance--half loping, half skipping.

The front door opened and Ross watched as the girl was swallowed by the darkness inside.

 

 


	2. Don't Let Go

Ross stopped the black pickup before he’d entered the crescent drive, and instead pulled off into the nearby grass. Builders were raking out fine new gravel and had marked the area off with yellow tape. They paused to glare at Ross and when they saw he posed no threat to their progress, continued with their work.

It struck Ross that his uncle had only just installed that drive in the past ten years or so, when the house was newly built. If it had been done right the first time, there was no reason it shouldn’t have lasted. But the house itself was already showing some signs of wear in places and was even beginning to look dated.

“You have to use quality materials, Charles, not this cheap shite,” Ross’s father had told his uncle back when the new house in Trenwith Road was being constructed.  

Over his long career as a land developer, Uncle Charles had made scores of cash that he desperately wanted to show off to the neighbourhood. He had the old Poldark family house pulled down and a new one erected in its place. Tall, with an out of place gable here or there and a bulgy fake-stone facade, the monstrosity had huge glass windows in front and no real architectural style. It reeked of money in an ostentatious way but no longer appeared fresh and new. Now it seemed a throwback to the previous decade’s economic bravado-- and an affront to anyone locally who was struggling.

“You put all your money into the place looking fancy but better it’s well-built,” Ross’s father had chided. “Otherwise won’t be long before someone else comes along and pulls this place down when it no longer suits them.”  

 _My father has hardly been known for making wise decisions, who is he to offer advice?_ Ross had thought at the time.

For Joshua Poldark, things were meant to last, to be held on to indefinitely, whether or not they still served their purpose. His own house at Nampara was a monument to that way of thinking. The roof was crumbling in places but the stone walls and ancient flag floors remained in tact. And Joshua had miserly held on to every scrap of metal, rubber, or wood, any engine or piece of farm equipment that once had worked--even the scrawniest of beasts born in his barn was kept on. He never shed a thing in his possession with the hopes that all could be repurposed some day. _Don’t let go_ , was his unspoken philosophy.

Ross had spent the first six months of his ownership of Nampara clearing through Joshua’s old junk, sorting out what had any sliver of value and what was beyond repair. Disposing of it had proven quite an expense in itself and he grew to understand another reason why his father had neglected to do so. Ross still had about two more outbuildings to go through--or maybe he should just pull them down altogether.

Yet considering his own stubborn streak to keep the farm going after Joshua’s death, perhaps Ross was more like his father than he’d like to admit. He still harboured the hope that Nampara could be made right again some day.

_Don’t let go._

Today Ross felt a sort of satisfaction that Charles’s first attempt at an elegant drive hadn’t lasted. No doubt he had chosen the most expensive top stone but probably hadn’t dug down far enough or provided the proper sand bed for drainage.

The glossy wooden doors of the three car garage beyond the drive were open but only one car was parked within. It seemed likely Uncle Charles wasn’t at home but the little cream coloured Mini Cooper convertible that belonged to Elizabeth was there. Such an utterly silly car, but she had wanted it and Uncle Charles was happy to indulge.

Even though Ross was expecting her to answer the door, the moment of preparation he had before seeing her face to face again hadn’t really mattered. It still felt like a punch in his gut every time.

“Oh, Ross,” she said. Somehow she managed to seem surprised, flustered, pleased, breathy, demure, and coy all at the same time.

This wavering indecision on her part annoyed Ross, and he moved into a clear feeling of irritation. Oddly, that pleased him--it was at least better than the precarious uncertainty and renewed hurt that had washed over him in the seconds before.

“I’m looking to speak to my uncle. Is he in? I didn't see his car…” Ross began and stepped over the threshold without being asked. Elizabeth looked down at his muddy shoes but didn't say anything, so he stopped on the rug and went no further into the hallway.

“You are correct. He’s away, I’m afraid, overnight to Plymouth,” she said. “But do come in. Would you like some tea or a bottle of beer?”

“A glass of water would be fine,” he said and tried to wipe his feet rather well before deciding to slip out of his boots altogether. He left them by the door and followed her into the spacious living room.

With its cathedral ceilings and massive windows, the room was bright and very airy. Everything in it--the walls, the furniture, the carpet-- was white, with the exception of a coffee table which had a glass top and the rather large-leafed houseplants that towered in the corners. Ross wondered where his late Aunt Verity’s black piano had been moved to.

He settled into a white bentwood armchair but avoided putting his feet on the footrest in front of him. He instantly disliked the awkwardly reclined angle the chair forced on him and tried to sit up at once.

Seeing him seated, Elizabeth left him alone and returned several minutes later with a bottle of mineral water and two glasses.

“Did you need Charles’s help with something?” she asked, as she handed him a glass, then perched herself at the edge of the white leather sofa.

Ross swallowed. He did in fact need help from Charles. Elizabeth had always been perceptive--or perhaps Ross had never been good at hiding anything from her.

Today Elizabeth was wearing a pink knit dress that brought out the natural blush in her cheeks and the rose shade of her lips. The colour, which appeared even more pale in contrast to the white sofa, made her look a bit like a young girl.

That didn't sit well with Ross--it served to remind him of the inappropriate age difference between Elizabeth and her husband, as though she were really just a teenager playing mistress of the house. Ross had always thought of Elizabeth as grown and mature, even when they were both young, when they’d first met. She was almost two full years older than Ross, and when he was a young man of nineteen that had made such a difference.  An alluring, _older_ woman taking an interest in him? Ross couldn’t believe his luck. She had been so serious and the whole relationship had taken on a sort of gravity and significance before they knew it. Yet when Elizabeth had ended it with him, she’d chalked the romance up to just a youthful dalliance of little consequence.

“Did we really not mean those things we said to each other?” he asked her when he managed to get her on the phone after reading the break-up letter she’d sent to him in Cyprus.

“Ross, good god! When we met we were kids...I was merely a girl, barely out of my teens. How could I really know what I wanted? Surely you can’t _still_ hold me to that?” she had scoffed. And in her tone she made it clear she did not expect him to understand. She still considered him a boy--not a mature, established _man_ like his Uncle Charles.

It had been both hurtful and insulting. Because if Ross were just a kid, he was one who had recently suffered bodily harm in the service of Queen and country, who was grieving the unexpected loss of his father, and who was now charged with saving the failing family farm. Those seemed like rather adult burdens to be shouldering. And in his whole life, Ross had never really felt like a boy--not even when he was one. His father had treated him like a peer since his mother died, and as inappropriate as that was most times, it had caused Ross to accept responsibilities and harden in some ways that were well beyond his years.

Ross wasn’t sure Uncle Charles had suffered any growing pains or ever really struggled in his life at all. The eldest son in a fairly prosperous land owning family, who inherited property and wealth, then waltzed into a marriage with a kind woman from an even wealthier family who left everything to him after she died, Charles made a few wise investments in his youth and then the world simply continued to unfold at his feet. Whereas Charles’s younger brother, Ross’s father, was dogged by misfortune, bad decisions, heart ache, and financial woes until the end. Even the losses of their respective wives had been experienced with marked contrast. Joshua was never the same after Grace died. Their love had been profound, evident to anyone who met them, and her absence forever shattered his world. Charles, on the other hand, was fond of his first wife but seemed to get on easily without her, almost as though her absence made little difference in his life. He had certainly never valued her opinion and whether or not he loved her, who could say?

Now Uncle Charles had one more golden trophy land in his lap--Elizabeth Chenowyth, his young new wife. It was a May-December romance for sure--Elizabeth was even younger than Charles’s daughter Verity, his only child from his first marriage.

Ross never knew the details of how Charles and Elizabeth came to be involved romantically or why she agreed to marry the old man--Ross never had the stomach to hear the tale in its entirety. But he could see Elizabeth lent some style and breathed a freshness into Charles’s boring life. He might ask what Elizabeth saw in Charles but he knew the answer: money and plenty of it.  

When Ross returned to Cornwall, still feeling betrayed, he’d vowed to see little of his uncle. But that soon proved impossible. So many family land and legal matters were tied up together and he found he regularly needed Charles’s counsel. And Charles was willing to offer it--he seemed to feel some remorse at the hand Ross had been dealt and offering up a little guidance now and then was a small price to pay for a soothed conscience. Besides Charles liked being listened to and over the years had to grown to expect that others would naturally heed his sage advice.

And so today it had been for consultation that Ross had sought Charles out again.

“Yes,” Ross said, still unable to fully understand Elizabeth and her inner motives as she sat  across from him in her white palace. “I had hoped to see my uncle for some legal advice.”

“Legal? That sounds rather serious,” she said and peered over the top of her glass. Then she smiled at him--and instantly he felt his guard come down.

 _Oh yes, that smile_. Her gleaming white teeth, her soft full lips, the perfectly formed brow that arched in sync with her open mouth. And her eyes--they gleamed and danced too. It was genuine--wasn’t it?

Impulsively Ross started to share his current predicament with her but was hardly a few sentences in before he regretted his foolish decision.

“So you are wondering if you would be complicit, implicated legally, if you did not report this child abuse you seem certain of? And who is this girl to you? A stranger?” She no longer seemed at all interested in his dilemma.

“Yes,” Ross said but felt that her summation wasn’t quite correct. Yesterday young Demelza Carne was a stranger but by the time they’d returned her home, she had already established a connection with them, with Nampara. It wasn’t easy to put in words.

“I feel like I can’t turn my back on her but reporting her family situation to social services doesn’t seem right,” he tried to explain but couldn’t properly articulate his thoughts. He felt the involvement of social service would be highly disruptive to whatever coping strategies the girl had managed to find. Who was he to undo that? If she were put into care how long would it be before she got back on track? Would she ever?

“But she admitted to you that her father is abusive? And even after hearing that, you had really agreed to _employ_ her? Don’t you need her father’s permission for that if she is so young?” she asked coldly.

Ross felt a slight relief that she hadn’t also pointed out one needed money to employ someone.

“You know in the country it’s common for kids to work odd jobs around farms, informally, always has been that way,” he began.

“You need to avoid getting involved with her family’s situation, Ross. There is nothing you can do and giving her charitable handouts will only prolong her plight without offering genuine remedy.”

It was the way Elizabeth phrased it. How ridiculous it was that he’d even considered helping! Ross was stepping into a complicated situation, for no real reason. And any altruism he might have been feeling was surely misplaced--if he really cared about the girl, he would work through the proper channels.

“You must contact social services at once,” she added and took a long draught from her glass.

“And if I don't, will you?” he asked.

“No. It is not my business and it really isn’t yours either. Think about it, Ross. Do you have the time for this, with all your own...worries?” She looked away, embarrassed, after saying this.  

Yes, Ross had more than “worries.”  He had serious financial burdens that threatened the very roof over his head. He didn’t feel obliged to thank her for the reminder.

“Besides she could also exhibit behaviour problems and create real trouble for you. You have no idea what you might have taken on, Ross.”  

This last statement irked Ross. Elizabeth had taken one course in psychology at university and no doubt felt the case studies she’d read were enough to allow for such a sweeping claim. But Elizabeth had no knowledge of this girl. How could she assume Demelza, who she’d never met, was a menace--or even a danger? What did Elizabeth suspect she’d do--kill his cat? Burn down his house?

“I can’t see that,” Ross said.

“Well, a girl so young, anything is possible,” Elizabeth said with a dismissive confidence.

“So it’s her age that’s the problem?” he asked. “If she were older, it would be different?”

“No, then it would be worse! But you know what I mean. And regardless of what is going on in _her_ mind, people will talk. You could see how it would appear _not right.”_

“What isn’t right?” Ross challenged her. He felt his face grow flushed and sensed what had started as mere vexation was developing into real anger.

“An older man alone with someone so much younger…” She said in a lowered voice as if she didn't want others to hear, even though they were alone. She looked sidewise at the floor as she spoke--such a scandalous idea couldn’t be faced directly.

“Because you would know?” he quipped. He couldn’t help it. How could she not see the ridiculous hypocrisy that dripped from her words? Elizabeth was more than thirty years younger than her husband. How in the hell was that _right_?

“That’s not fair!” she cried and Ross heard the hurt in her voice. Still unable to bear seeing Elizabeth in distress, he regretted his words. He had no wish to inflict further harm.

“No, of course not,” he pulled back before any further urge to lash out bubbled up in his gut. “No doubt you are a grown woman and are comfortable with whatever choices you have made--and their consequences. Please tell my uncle, I called,” he said and rose to his feet.

As he headed back towards the hallway, he felt a bit humiliated as his socks slipped on the polished floors. Whether Elizabeth was hurt again by his abruptness, or disappointed in his lack of judgement, he didn’t know. She didn't move to see him out and he didn’t turn back to read her expression.

\---

Ross took the tractor straight out to the far fields as soon as he returned to Nampara. He regretted taking any time away from his work for what had proved to be such an unsuccessful venture, and he hated that so many emotions were suddenly churned up in him--anger, hurt, disappointment, discomfort. He had woken that day feeling almost even-keeled, or at least accepting of his lot and ready for hours of intense labour before sunset. Now he was behind.

And he would always be behind.

He hoped the loud rumble of the tractor might distract him from his troubled thoughts and numb his senses. And if not, well, there was still the bottle of Grant’s waiting for him at the end of the day.

Hours later, Ross returned to the yard, surprised to find Prudie looking for him.

“She’s ‘ere,” Prudie said, tapping her foot impatiently. Ross had come to read Prudie’s temperature based on how rapidly the foot moved. Today she was agitated for sure.

At first he thought she meant Elizabeth but then knew that couldn’t be true. He’d have seen her car in the yard.

“Who?” he asked and swung down from the tractor seat, still distracted by his own unsettled thoughts and annoyed at Prudie’s drama.

“The girl!”

“What? Demelza?” he laughed. “Today?”

“She’s in the barn! See fer yerself!” Prudie barked and turned in an unmistakable huff to go back to the house. Ross doubted she was heading for the kitchen--she probably felt she needed an early evening nap before she got to work on any real supper for him.

Ross entered through the half-opened door of the barn and heard someone talking softly to the goats and humming. Then he saw Demelza seated on a bundle of hay in a dark corner. Garrick, the puppy, wriggled in her lap, his bandaged tail wagging uncontrollably.

“Mister Ross!” Demelza said brightly and tried to stand up, but fell back down when Garrick leapt at her with all his might. Thrilled to be reacquainted with his true mistress, the dog was not ready to release her just yet. She laughed again and grabbed him up in her arms.

“We weren't expecting you today, Demelza. Is anything amiss?” Ross said, dreading the answer. Of course he wished the girl no harm but he would also hate it if Elizabeth were right. Maybe he didn’t know what he was wading into.

“No, everythin’s fine, it’s only I thought I might come by and see what needs doin’. You don’t need to pay me for today, I mean, if that’s what yer thinkin’,” she said and clutched Garrick to her just a little more tightly.

Ross suspected that her eagerness to help out that day was largely inspired by her wish to see her dog and had very little to do with Ross’s needs at all.

 _Her one true friend. Perhaps that’s even more than I have_ , he thought solemnly, then looked at her again.

“Demelza, what are you wearing?”

He saw she had on a man’s shirt, one that once was a checked flannel but now was faded and worn thin.The sleeves were rolled up and the front draped down to her knees, almost entirely covering the blue skirt she wore underneath. Ross recognised it as one of his own work shirts.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Ross. It was hangin’ on the peg there and I thought I might put it on to cover my school uniform until I sort out some proper work clothes. I didn’t mean any harm, I can take it off, I’m sorry,” she stammered.

“No, keep it. It’s rather resourceful of you and yes, we should find you clothes you don't mind getting both dirty and smelly. And footwear too,” he added looking at her trainers which he suspected would soon be covered in muck if they weren't already.  

As if she read his mind, she laughed.

“Don't worry about these--they belong to my brother but he won’t even miss them.”

“Have you any boots?”

She shook her head.  

“I’ll speak to Prudie and see what we can find. No doubt we’ve some spares somewhere. Listen, I have some more work to do, then I’ll take you home,” Ross said.

“I told you can manage the bus,” she said proudly. “I made it here, didn't I?”

“But you’ll stay for your tea again and then it will get dark. So no, one of us will take you back. Unless you need to be home earlier?”

“Oh no, I’ll stay!” Demelza smiled brightly at the thought of another meal in the Nampara kitchen. She kissed the puppy in her arms then turned to the creatures she’d been tending in the barn.

Ross found himself surprised to be smiling back too. He’d made this strange girl happy--more than once now. It was, quite possibly, the most important thing he’d accomplished in some time.


	3. Sweet Dreams

For Demelza Carne, the time she spent at Nampara Farm was life changing. She was busier than she’d ever been before--getting to the farm after school, working well into the evening, returning home to do her school work, rising early to get to school, and then doing it all again the next day. But never before in her short little life had she felt so alive--and so free.

The terms of her employment had quietly expanded. Originally it was only to be weekends, but straight away she insisted on coming a few days during the week too. Then a few days became almost every day. And to her great surprise, no one objected.

Demelza loved the farm, even in its disrepair and decay. She got such joy being close to the animals, even to muck out the stables and sheds was almost pleasurable to her--almost. The stock were largely ignored but for her attention and quickly came to recognise her, to see her as their great benefactress. Each afternoon she was met by a chorus of welcoming brays, moos, and grunts while warm noses, and butting heads--some gentle and some more insistent--sought out her friendly and reassuring hands.

Yet it was the solitude and the quiet Demelza found at Nampara that she loved most. Of course there was the song of birds, and the roar of tractor motors, and the ever-vocal animals. But once she was in the barnyard, the hustle of the main road wasn't audible and even the wind seemed softer to her.

She was amazed at how her mind would wander and she'd find that after hours in the paddock chasing down the goats, she’d have gone so far in her imagination and have thought about so many different things. Things from school, things she’d read, things she’d overheard on the bus, things she remembered from long ago. Things in her life but also things beyond her own experience--things she’d dreamed or wondered about. There was nothing to interrupt her thoughts. No curses nor yells nor demands. No loud telly nor video games nor blaring music. No brutish brothers breaking up the place and fighting each other. And no father spewing cruel invectives at her.

Now in school when they taught “ _the mind is wider than the sky,_ ” she felt she might just understand what that meant. Maybe hers too could be that vast, that important.

Maybe.

There was so much to explore at Nampara and everyday Demelza found something new and wondrous. Ross Poldark’s nearly silent house was one thing that fascinated her. One day, as she clomped through the empty hallway in her Prudie’s old boots, she realised she wasn’t sure if she’d actually ever heard her own footsteps before.  

She found that hush somehow cheering. It wasn't that those in the Poldark household were really any happier or more contented than her own family, just that their approach to dissatisfaction was to say nothing at all. Ross Poldark didn’t outwardly rage against the despair of life; it was more like he’d found a civil accord with it. In all, it seemed a healthier approach to her.

But the house wasn't entirely silent for Demelza spent time each day visiting Prudie in the kitchen and chatted endlessly, not with her, but maybe _at_ her. At first Prudie wasn't really listening as much as just she not cutting the girl off.  

And then after just a few weeks, Prudie began to show signs that she not only tolerated Demelza but maybe even enjoyed her visits. It was so uncharacteristic of the grumpy housekeeper that no one expected it.

It had started small. First, when she went to the shops, Prudie had started to pick out little things specifically for Demelza. Maybe a special bun or a cake the girl might like for her tea. Then one night, Prudie drove Demelza home, and instead of huffing with resentment, she wound down the windows in her old Mondeo to let the warm spring air blow in her hair, and turned the radio up to sing along. Demelza didn’t quite know all the lyrics to _Sweet Dreams_ , but she tried her best to join in at Prudie’s invitation. Later, unprovoked and on more than one occasion, Prudie cleaned and pressed Demelza’s school uniform once the girl had changed into her work clothes and went off to the stables.

More surprising than her growing fondness for Demelza, was Prudie’s sudden affection for Garrick, which she made no attempts to hide. In all her years there, Prudie had never taken an interest in any animal at Nampara yet now she treated this odd young dog like a pampered poodle. She fed him kitchen scraps and then cooed over his rapid growth from loping puppyhood to a larger, more awkward frame. It was never spoken outright but they all understood Garrick lived at Nampara full time now and would never return to the Carne household in Illogan.

Of course Garrick took to his new surroundings with delight. He’d wake early and chase rabbits under gorse bushes, then wander for hours taking in all the smells other wild creatures had left for him to decipher. He remained busy all day but really came alive in the afternoons when Demelza arrived. He’d tag alongside her as she worked, content for the occasional cuddle or ear scratching she’d pause to offer. He was good with the stock, herding the baby goats but granting a respectful berth to the stronger adults. He never menaced the chickens and managed to stay out of the worst filth in the pigs’ stalls. He seemed content just to be by Demelza’s side. Then when they went in for some supper, he knew he’d get what he’d been waiting for all day. Together Prudie and Demelza would fuss over him while he lay on the kitchen rug, basking in the attention they abundantly gave.

It really hadn’t taken long before Demelza and her dog brought a notable change to Nampara. If anyone had ever taken the time to read childhood novels to Demelza, she’d have been familiar with the classic storyline of the earnest little girl who unwittingly brightened the gloomy household with her smile and warmth. She was merely taking her place with such characters as Anne Shirley, Pollyanna, and Mary Lennox, as she worked her healing charms on the grumpy and broken Nampara residents.

Even Ross seemed moved by her presence. Demelza didn't see Ross much but when she did, she could tell he mostly found her amusing and was not terribly annoyed by her boundless energy. She saw he was pleased that Prudie enjoyed her company and she knew he was more than satisfied with her work. When she first started coming, he left her hand written notes of what she was to accomplish each afternoon and sometimes gave lengthy instructions for special tasks. But it didn't take long before Ross abandoned that practice because she knew exactly what needed doing and did it without prompting.

That was really all she knew for sure about her mysterious and at times sullen employer. She had come to see he had a temper at times but he never raised his voice at her, or even to her dog. She found that intriguing and felt instinctively that she could trust him. More than anything she was grateful to him for giving her such a strange and wonderful opportunity. She now had a favourite place in the world and it was Nampara farm.

And at night when she lay in her own bed back in Illogan, she felt less troubled by the unwashed bed linens and the dingy walls that surrounded her.

She’d close her eyes and imagine the sweet smell of hay--or even the rich earthy smells of the animals--in the quiet of the west barn. And as she drifted off to sleep, her mind wandered in half-dreams towards some future day when she might have what she truly wanted above all else. She imagined what it would be like to feel the love she knew she had to give, returned back to her. To clutch the dark body to hers for comfort in the night, and to wake up with him in her arms. She wasn’t sure how she could ever make it happen but felt that to be alive was to have hope. It filled her heart and emboldened her to dream.

Yes, maybe one day she and her beloved Garrick would be permanently reunited, and she’d be able to live with him again.


	4. New Ventures

“Cornish hops? That’s a losing crop, boy! Everyone knows that. They use up the best manure, the soil here will produce a meagre yield, and with this wet climate, they’re prone to mildew…”

“No uncle, I believe we can do it differently--new variations better suited to our climate--and on a different scale,” Ross continued.

Ross had come to meet his uncle again, this time for another sort of consultation. He had long given up the idea that he needed advice on what to do with Demelza. His conversation with Elizabeth had disturbed him enough and he had no desire to replay it with someone else, namely his uncle. And in the weeks since Demelza had come back to Nampara on her own, she had proven to be more of a help than Ross could have originally imagined.

He resolved to watch the situation carefully and if Demelza mentioned anything else about her father to suggest the abuse was ongoing, then he’d consider further action. And the neglect? Well, that was another matter altogether and did still trouble Ross. He found it odd that Mr. Carne himself had not been heard from; Ross expected he might come round or ring to ask after his missing daughter. Apparently she hadn’t been missed.

So Demelza might have settled into a routine working at Nampara, but her circumstances, long term, had not yet been resolved.

Yet what was occupying Ross’s full attention now, and what had brought him to seek his uncle out, was not his young farm hand, but a new farming venture. Over the past months Ross had done his research and made casual contacts that had grown into professional allies. And instead of becoming dissuaded, Ross grew more and more committed as the plan seemed to take on a life of its own. If he was to make a move, the time was now.

“There are more breweries in Cornwall per head than anywhere in the UK,” Ross explained confidently. He knew this idea would seem speculative to his uncle.

Charles mostly drank fine single malts and only occasionally had a pint with a friend. And when he did, it was the same traditional ale at the same pub he’d visited for decades. He would hardly have noticed the growing market for craft beers. Ross hoped he could explain the business end to him that made the farming side seem less like a risk.

“I’ve been working to line up the new local breweries--and there are at least three within striking distance. We’d sell directly to them. They save on shipping costs since we’re so close. Fresh hops don't travel distances well, but fresh is precisely what these new start-ups want. So if the hops aren’t shipped from as far, we solve a problem for them. It means, Uncle, better beer.”

“Ah yes, well, well,” Uncle Charles said in response, non committal. _Sounds like something Joshua would have suggested_ , he might as well as have said. But then again he didn't say it was daft. He offered at least a silent acceptance. Maybe--just maybe--he was weighing the merits of Ross’s plans.

\----

“Have you been here to see your uncle?” Elizabeth called, as Ross moved across the drive towards his parked truck. She had pulled into the garage while he was inside and now walked towards him questioningly.  

 _She always did have an inquiring mind_ , he thought.

“Yes, to share with him the details of my new business venture.”

“And he was...agreeable?” she responded stiffly. Ross noted how formal, how forced her words were, and he grew instantly rankled.

“I wasn’t asking for a loan, if that’s what you are wondering. My father never stooped to begging from his brother so I certainly am not about to start.”

“I didn't mean…” she said.

“But you should know,” he laughed, “that time and again he had offered me ample money to leave Cornwall and set up somewhere--anywhere else. It seems he finds my presence an irritant to his otherwise idyllic new life.”

“Ross, despite whatever feelings you have against Charles,” she began.

Ross hated the way she said _Charles_ , so rich and dripping with feeling.  

“I wish there was a way we could...we could find a way to be friends...” she continued.

Good god, what did she know about friendship? And how could she place such a demand on him today? Did she not understand the edge of a knife upon which he now stood? How Ross’s failure would not only mean ruin for him but also to the memory of his father? Ross may not have agreed with many decisions his father had made but he owed him some sort of family loyalty nonetheless. They were bound together, even after Joshua’s death, whether Ross liked it or not.

Elizabeth had no such ties. Not even now, Ross suspected, when she was legally attached to Charles.

_Did she ever think of anyone but herself? And yet she is so frightened of being on her own..._

“Friends? Not likely. What I require in friendship, Elizabeth, is trust and loyalty and those are qualities you seem to be missing.”  

His knew his words stung because her face froze then she looked away as though she might cry.  

Ross wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain his own facade if he saw her break down. She knew this about him and had used tears on him many times in the past when she wanted to manipulate his feelings.

“But seeing as how we cannot change that we are neighbours and relations, we can at least agree to civil,” he nodded without making eye contact. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there is some urgent task back at Nampara that requires my attention. There always is.”

This was the second time in recent weeks that he’d turned his back on her. He sensed a pattern was emerging.

\-----

“Mister Ross? Prudie said you sold Selena?”

Demelza was asking about one of the pigs she’d been caring for the past few weeks. Ross had allowed her to name them as well as the new goats that had been born that spring before she came to Nampara. She had names for the cows too but those seemed to change according to her moods.

“Yes, Trembath picked her up this morning and gave us a good price. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. I know you were fond of that one. But we still have Justin and Taylor.”

“Couldn't you have kept Selena and sold Taylor?”

“Demelza, you know she’s not nearly the quality that Selena is.”

_Was._

By now she’d probably met her end and was hanging on a hook in Trembath’s cold storage room. Tomorrow she’d be someone’s Sunday dinner.

“We have to bring in every penny we can and unfortunately we cannot afford to be sentimental. I thought you knew this,” he said with only a glance up.

Without saying another word, she turned and left the room but not before Ross caught the crushed expression on her face.

Later that same afternoon Ross sat in his study trying his best to craft a convincing proposal to sway more would-be investors in support of his hop farming venture. He felt confident in his ability to argue a point in person--he knew he had a certain charisma that worked to his advantage. But he felt less sure about getting things down in writing.

From the other side of the house he heard the kitchen door swing open violently, followed by the inelegant clomping of ill-fitting boots on flagstone in the hallway. He looked up to see Demelza standing with a small metal pail resting on her hip as she leaned in the doorway of the library. She came no closer and waited for him to speak first.

“Yes?” he said.

“I’ve been thinkin’...” she started.

“Well, what is it?” He didn't mean to sound short but wasn’t sure why she was hesitating. She usually had no qualms about sharing her mind with him. And whatever it was had weighed on her mind heavily enough that she hadn’t even bothered to put down her slop pail before she came marching in.

“Well… next time you’re ready to sell, include me. I mean you can count on me to help with the preparations. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

“Yes, well, glad to hear that, Demelza. I’ll bear that in mind in future.”

“I mean...I’m not a child, Mister Ross. I know the stock aren’t pets and I understand the circle of life. How they leave us. And...how they get here!” With that Demelza turned and stomped off back to the barnyard.

  



	5. Ibiza and beyond

In the ten months since she’d first come to Nampara, Demelza grew at least three inches, and while she hadn't really added any substantial muscle mass or body fat to her frame, she no longer looked quite so frail. Now she had that awkward look of a young horse who hadn’t developed its strength yet nor fully grown into its height. And like a yearling, her seemingly boundless spirit could not be contained.

The girl was starting to branch out, just a toe at a time maybe, to explore beyond her narrow world. She changed her hair from time to time--nothing dramatic only a little thing here or there to show she’d started to take notice of her own appearance. Some days she’d practice speaking Spanish to the animals, and even started commenting on the news if Prudie had it on in the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s no good,” Demelza said casually one evening when Sophie Raworth announced the nation’s credit rating had been downgraded.

“Why’s it matter to you, then?” Prudie teased. “You suddenly our MP?”

“Prudie, it matters to all of us. A credit downgrade can make it more expensive for a government to borrow money,” Demelza replied casually, then burst into laughter. “I’m only playin’ with you-- I just learnt that in school today!”

It was a reminder to Prudie that the girl was a sponge and there was little she saw or heard that was ever disregarded.

There was another change in Demelza that Ross hadn't noticed, but Prudie saw straightaway. Demelza had started to talk more of her mates at school, and when she did, it was breezy and light, about a laugh they’d had or the torture they experienced at the hands of a boring maths teacher. Demelza sometimes texted these other girls on the car ride home and they rang her from time to time as well.

“Dee!” they could be heard shouting from the phone. “You will never believe what just happened...”

The housekeeper interpreted this as a good sign--it was _normal_ teenage behaviour to have friends. Prudie never put a voice to her concern but it just hadn’t seemed right for a young girl to spend all her time with a middle aged woman and a flock of goats.

Of course the girl also had a connection to Ross, which was harder to define. Well, _he_ was hard to define too. He was perpetually cross and still seemed to go days without talking to anyone at all. Financial burdens and heartaches had aged him significantly over the past two years, so he’d easily be mistaken for a man in his middle years. Yet he and Demelza had assumed an odd but mutually agreed upon relationship. He rarely spoke of the terms of her employment but they all assumed she was going nowhere anytime soon. Ross watched over the girl from a distance as her unofficial guardian and benefactor and she stayed out of his way for the most part. And when she couldn’t bridle her opinions or enthusiasm, he managed to find an uncharacteristic patience for her. It was clear the two had a regard for each other and an understanding, not unlike two orphaned animals of different species, a kitten and a crow maybe, that come to coexist in the wild, traveling together and forming their own sort of pack to survive.

So when the girl suddenly started chatting less about whether she’d spotted a lesion on one of the pigs and more about Aislin’s new braces or Gemma’s bra size, Prudie saw this as a good thing.

It meant that in all respects, Demelza was thriving.

And her biggest adventure was yet to come, for that April Demelza was going to Spain with school--her first trip abroad ever.

Demelza was so proud of herself for having managed it on her own, after saving most of the year. She squirreled away her wages from Ross and she’d gotten some money--not much, just twenty quid--from an uncle at Christmas that she hadn’t had to give over to her family’s expenses. In addition to her work at Nampara, she minded some neighbour children back in Illogan every now and then. She found she preferred barnyard beasts to toddlers but it was yet another excuse to stay away from home when she couldn’t be at the farm. The money wasn’t much and came in dribs and drabs, but she was determined and thrifty and planned far enough ahead, that the dream soon became an attainable reality.

As the trip loomed closer, her eyes got brighter and she could talk of nothing else. But this new experience for the girl, beyond watchful Nampara eyes, had Prudie nervous.   

“Wear yer sunblock at all times so you don’t come back lookin’ like a boiled lobster. Yer too fair to be layin’ out for a suntan, girl,” Prudie lectured her while they worked side by side in the kitchen. Demelza was peeling potatoes for one of Prudie’s nondescript suppers while Prudie took a cleaver to a tough cut of meat.

“Of course,” Demelza replied.

“And if you go to the disco…” Prudie whacked the meat with impressive ferocity.

“I’m fourteen years old and won’t be goin’ to any _‘discos_ ’!” Demelza laughed.

“Or clubs or whatever!” Prudie continued. “Don’t show off too much skin and stay in threes. If you go in pairs, it will be too easy for them to separate you…”

“Who’s goin’ to separate me from who?” Demelza asked.

“Any Spanish bloke who’s made you his mark. And watch yer drinks--don't leave ‘em unattended.”

“Prudie, we have a _curfew_. We’ll have _chaperones_ ,” the girl laughed.

“Don’t go swimmin’ if you’ve had a few.”

“Prudie! I won’t be drinkin.’ Mister Ross, tell her!” Demelza looked up for assistance as Ross entered the room.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I was a teenager once, Captain Ross, and you were too. We know how it is,” Prudie tried to explain. “Just tryin’ to prepare her for the ways of the world. There are plenty of men who’d take advantage of a girl. Can’t have you endin’ up sold to a sex ring!” She waved the cleaver in the air to emphasise the danger that loomed abroad.

“Sex ring?” Ross asked with a raised brow.

“I’m not a little girl,” Demelza muttered.

“I know! That’s the point! But yer a young one--and naive. And if yer off in that bikini, who knows what could happen…” Prudie was not to be dissuaded in her fretting.

“Are you still goin’ on about that?” Demelza asked with the slightest snicker.

Even though she still did not have much to fill it out with, Demelza had bought a bikini, largely because the other girls were bringing them as well. Prudie had not approved of it and did not hold her tongue on the matter.

“What would yer father say if I showed it to him?” Prudie threatened.

“You wouldn't dare,” Demelza said, her eyes narrowed. But she knew Prudie would never make trouble with Tom Carne and that it was merely a threat to get her point across.  

In fact Prudie had taken on an interesting role with Demelza's father. It was often Prudie who drove her home when she worked late, and on those nights Prudie would walk up to the door, and even through the threshold, of #22 Wesley Road. If Tom Carne were there she’d stare him down, give a nod, and let him know she’d delivered Demelza in one piece. The unspoken clause was that Demelza had better be returned to them at Nampara the next day, also in one piece, without any harm done to her.

Tom Carne seemed to accept these warnings and would give a grunt before he’d wander off into the kitchen to ignore the rest of his family then leave for his night shift.

“Mister Ross, please tell her not to be so overprotective,” Demelza pleaded.

Ross chuckled. That Prudie even cared was a sign that she’d continued to grow in her acceptance of Demelza.

“Well Prudie, Demelza has always shown good judgement and knows her own mind. But Demelza, you would be wise to heed Prudie’s warnings. You can be a cautious traveler but still have fun,” he offered, then was struck--as they all were--by how old his words made him sound.

“That’s your best advice?” Demelza asked. “Really?” She sighed and went back to her potatoes, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t been more sympathetic to her plight.

\---

It was less than a week later that Demelza sat down at the kitchen table, biting her lip, brows knit. She didn't say anything at first but when Prudie turned from the sink and saw her expression, she knew to push the girl.

“Such a long face? What’s that all about, then?”

“I’m not goin’ to Spain,” she said simply. No emotion, just factually stated.

“Wha…?” Prudie threw her hands up.

“I have a final payment for the trip due on Friday and it seems...I can't believe I’d be so stupid...I lost fifty quid.”

“You lost what?” Prudie was incredulous and rightfully so. Demelza was a responsible girl, she would never lose track of a penny of her earnings. This wasn't right.

Prudie switched on the kettle, then plopped herself in a chair opposite the girl at the table.

“Walk me through it, girl. Where’d you see it last?”

“I keep all my money hidden in my drawer in my room at home.”

“Which one? Which drawer?”

“The one with my knickers. I figured no one would mess about in there since it’s...private.” Prudie nodded her approval to this and Demelza blushed a bit. In fact, she had gone a step further and had hidden her money in a packet of tampons among her underthings, but she didn't quite feel right mentioning this to Prudie now.

“So you don't think anyone nicked it. In yer family, I mean?”

“No, my room locks. My brothers don’t have the key.”

“But yer father does?”

“Yes but he wouldn't know I have money in there. I must have really misplaced it. Anyway, it’s too late now. I can't find fifty pounds by Friday.”

Later, after she’d driven the devastated girl home, Prudie took Ross aside and told him the whole story.

“That’s a right load of bollocks, that is! The girl didn't _lose_ her money--that evil Tom Carne took it, I know he did, the thievin’ bastard!”

“But does Demelza know for sure? Do you think she’d confront him?” Ross asked.

“Never. She can’t even admit it to herself. She’d never get it back, even if he did take it. And now her heart’s all broke. She deserved to have a bit of fun and a holiday just like any other girl her age!” Now Prudie looked as though she was on the verge of tears.

Ross patted her arm absently and sighed. In truth he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. He knew they should have warned Demelza to be cautious with her money around her father yet to call her attention to it might just add to her sadness.

But the next evening while Demelza was gathering her belongings in preparation to leave, she burst out with a bright laugh that rang through the house.

“I don't believe it. Look!” She was holding a twenty pound note. “It was at the bottom of my rucksack! How on earth did I misplace it? Maybe the other thirty is in here somewhere,” she said, turning the contents of her bag out on the table and rifling through its pockets.

Ross took one quick glance at Prudie, who was desperately struggling to keep her expression stoney, and guessed exactly how that twenty got in there.  

He’d already considered loaning the money to Demelza but at least now there would be less she’d have to repay. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He didn't want Tom Carne to get away with his thievery but he also didn't want to deny the girl her first experience abroad.

“Demelza, I was thinking I might lend you the remaining money. You can pay it back whenever you are able,” he said, pulling out the bills then closing his wallet quickly. He didn't want her to see it was the last cash he had on him.

“Oh Mister Ross! That’s so kind of you!” she gasped and then threw her arms around his neck in a quick, awkward hug.  

“Oh Prudie! I can't believe it! It’s really happenin’....España, here I come!”

She danced with glee then bounced off to ring her mates.

  
  



	6. Connections

“Mister Ross! Mister Ross!” Demelza shouted. “ _Mis-ter_ Ross!” She waved her hands in the air so he could see she was there in the path of the roaring tractor, even if he hadn’t heard her call him.  

Seeing her animation, Ross thought it might be urgent and cut the engine. The girl didn’t usually come running out to the hay fields to find him simply to pass on a message. He hoped it wasn’t anything disturbing--he really couldn’t bear any bad news.

“Well? What is it?” he barked curtly, then saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes at his impatience. She must have thought she was doing him a favour and instead he’d dismissed her courteous attention as bothersome.

“Just, there’s a lady here to see you,” Demelza said flatly. Her previously animated features went instantly blank. It wasn’t in her nature to let others know when they had wounded her. “She said she was yer cousin.” She turned and walked on ahead of him further afield.

Where she was destined, Ross didn't know. It was unlike her to abandon her tasks mid afternoon so he was curious for a moment, then decided to let her be. He really needed to get back to the house to greet his cousin Verity.

Verity was Uncle Charles’s daughter and one of Ross’s only other living relations. They had been close in their youth but he hadn't seen much of her since he went into the army and she’d moved to Truro.

Ross had always hated how Uncle Charles treated Verity--dismissive, never supportive, at times insultingly harsh. And yet she had been nothing but a doting and attentive daughter to the man. Uncle Charles had always been selfish and appallingly unable to take care of himself. Now that Ross reflected on it, it was shortly after Verity moved to Truro, that Charles had taken up with Elizabeth. Perhaps he just needed someone else to attend to his needs, serve his meals, and feed his ego.  

“Verity! I wasn't expecting you but I’m not unhappy,” Ross called as he swung down from the tractor once he’d returned to the dusty Nampara yard. “What brings you around?” He was pleased she had waited for him.

“Oh Ross, _you_ do! You’ve sequestered yourself up on this farm, no one has seen hide nor hair of you for months. I hope I haven’t taken you away from anything crucial but I thought I might persuade you to at least go for a walk with me,” Verity said. She was cheerful, sweet, but also appeared to have something on her mind.

They meandered silently through the meadows west of the house and around the valley until they came to the cliffs that overlooked the sea.

Today the water was calm and shimmering bright in the early July sunshine--a marked contrast with Ross’s mood. But he shook off his own feelings of discontent to better read Verity. He suspected there was something she had wanted to tell him or maybe to ask him, but he wasn’t going to press.

“I trust you’ve heard Elizabeth is pregnant?” she finally spoke.

“Yes, she told me herself.” That had been a conversation he did not relish recalling.  

It started out as all of his other visits had. While Ross was waiting for his uncle, Elizabeth had tried to engage him in breezy banter, not understanding why he showed little interest in anything she said.

“Has the spring rain been damaging to your hop seeds?” she’d asked, placing a bottle of sparkling water in front of him.

“Rhizomes,” he’d muttered. “No.”

“That’s good. Charles has been most fretful that they’d mould, you see. Lime?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry...he talks with you about my impending business failures?” Ross blurted.

“Who said anything about failures? He wishes you well, Ross. We _all_ do.”

It was such a condescending tone, he looked away in disgust and hadn’t noticed she’d rubbed her hand gently against her stomach as she spoke.

“And you may not want to believe me but your uncle and I, we understand each other. He listens to my ideas…” she continued.

“So is the persistent pressure he offers me to leave Cornwall _your_ idea?” Ross had finally gathered the courage to look up at her face. Her eyes glistened with what seemed to be tears, but he felt prepared for that.

“And are you leaving?” she asked softly. “We’d be rather troubled by that.”

Again her use of ‘ _we_ ’ agitated him.

When she realised she hadn’t garnered the response she’d hoped for, she assumed an icier tack.

“Because, you see,” she said picking her glass up with a slight flourish of her elegant hand, “our family is about to expand.”

That conversation had been months ago and he’d managed to stay away since. The early stages of hops cultivation had been all consuming so he didn’t need to manufacture an excuse.

“Are you okay with that? With the news, I mean,” Verity asked.

“Sometimes I am. And what choice do I have but to accept it? Frankly, I’m a bit surprised it didn't happen sooner.”

Ross hadn't yet seen Elizabeth in a more noticeable stage of pregnancy so it was easy at times to forget. But she was due in four months and then he’d have another cousin. He’d be expected to visit and no doubt attend a christening or some such event. At these thoughts, he twisted his face in a grimace without realising it.

“Oh Ross. It grieves me to see you so...so glum. Please tell me, do you have any fun? Do you ever just go out with mates?”

“Who has time?” he said gruffly. His gaze wandered back up towards the house and the hopyard that lay beyond.

“Ross you sound like you’re sixty!” Verity laughed then tried a more tender approach and took his hand in hers. “You have to make time, you know.”

At that Ross gave a weak smile and tried unsuccessfully to laugh with her--it was instead a breathy sigh.

“I miss my father,” he said suddenly. He hadn't really put that emotion into words until that moment, but it was true.

“Do you?”

“Well, even though we didn't get on well, at least he was...mine. We belonged together. As mismatched and abrasive as we were...we’re from the same place, part of the same ‘team,’ even if it was a losing one. I don’t feel connected anymore, like I don't have anyone on _my side_ in the same way.”

_No one to listen to my ideas,_ he thought.

“I’m sorry I can't be there for you, Ross,” Verity said softly, “It hurts me to hear of your pain.”

“No, Verity. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t enough. You’re all I have, in fact, in the way of family.”

“Besides Aunt Agatha,” she reminded him.

“Yes, Aunt Agatha,” he laughed. His great Aunt Agatha was a formidable woman in her mid nineties and possibly the gloomiest Poldark of all.

“Ross, I know my father isn’t your favourite person but he does have regard for you. Even if he expresses it in his own way.”

_By stealing my girlfriend._

“I suppose there are those who depend on me here. I should be grateful for them.”

“Jim Carter? I hear you’ve hired him as your newest farmhand.”

Jim Carter was a local lad of about sixteen that Ross had taken on for the summer. Lanky and easily distracted, Jim was less than ideal as labourer. He wasn’t strong at all and his chronic asthma meant he had to take frequent breaks when working in the fields. Ross had found it curious that when they’d been racing to hang the trellis strings in the hopyard, Demelza had caught on quickly and laid twice as much as Jim did in just one morning’s time. But despite his shortcomings, the boy was earnest and eager, and Ross knew Jim’s summer wages--though meagre--meant a lot to his family. He suspected he’d keep him on in the autumn as well.

“As gruff and cold as my father was, he always showed a particular concern for the welfare of the Carter family, especially after Jim’s father died. Maybe looking out for Jim is something I’ve inherited from him,” Ross laughed. It was hardly a laughing matter--Ross could scarce afford anyone’s wages yet seemed to be constantly collecting new employees.

And he’d often wondered if his father’s concern for Mrs. Carter, Jim’s mother, went beyond the neighbourly and charitable. Usually Ross tried not to think about his father’s salacious affairs, which for the most part had been carried out in secret but had been the fodder for local gossip nonetheless. Joshua Poldark had a knack for choosing lovers who some would deem improper; usually they were too young--or too married. Mrs. Carter had been both.

“Jim does what he can. I’ll need to take on more experienced field help if I’m going to expand the operation at all.”

“Expand?” Verity asked. “Buy more land?”

“No, just devote more to the hops venture. It seems to be a worthy risk and so far we’ve had luck on our side.”

That April, Ross had taken a nerve wracking gamble to prune back the first flush just when it appeared so promising. But he was right to follow what his gut--and his research--had told him and the second growth was even lusher than he could have dreamed. Then, when they trained the hops around the trellis strings, they’d managed to get the timing just right on that too. Since then, the summer had been warm, and the bines had grown to an impressive height. So now it was just a matter of closely watching them move into the flowering stage before harvesting--the final phase of experimentation and anxiety.

“I hope it’s not too soon to say we did alright for a first go, but to make any money in future we need to cultivate more. And for a larger yield I'll need different equipment and help. Hops need frameworks to grow up you see, and harvesting will be more complex than barley or any of the other grains we've grown here in the past. We’ll need to update our irrigation as well. I should have known that any glimmer of success in this business would mean more expense.”

“But you can keep up the rest of this place on your own?”

“There’s Prudie and Demelza.”

“Your little helper girl? I saw her with the goats. She’s adorable,” Verity smiled.

“Well, she’s funny and can be quite entertaining at times. I’m not sure you’d call her adorable if you heard her tongue. This is her second summer here, and she’s really good with animals, otherwise I might have just gotten rid of them all. Now we sell the goat milk to Barnett for their cheese and Trembath likes our meats. You know Demelza sensed when something was off with Ermi before there were any outward signs. It turns out the cow had grass tetany but we caught it early and she’s fully recovered,” Ross explained, a note of pride in his voice.

“Are you telling me she’s a cow whisperer?” Verity teased.

“No, she’s observant. And a good kid and I’m happy to be able to help her.”

_I’ll need to check in with later,_ he thought. _Make sure she knows I appreciate that she came out to fetch me. She must have run the entire distance._

“Any other signs of trouble in her home?” Verity asked. Despite his resolve to manage Demelza’s home situation himself, he had long ago confided in Verity about Demelza’s abusive father. And he’d been glad he had, for Verity agreed that his decision to do nothing until further warranted was the best course of action. Later he wondered if he had simply shopped around until he’d found an agreeable opinion. But Ross also knew Verity was good at keeping secrets. He must remind himself to reach out to her and confide more of his burdens in her. Yet sometimes she seemed to be troubled with her own.

“None that are evident enough to trouble my conscience. If that’s what you mean.”

“And the dog lives here permanently?” Verity giggled at the idea.

“Well, yes, that wasn't supposed to be the plan but it does make some sense. A dog can be useful on a farm. But tell me, how are you, Verity? Business at the cafe doing well?”

Verity owned a cafe on River Street in Truro. From Ross’s outsider perspective it seemed to be thriving. The place got good reviews and was always crowded whenever he tried to stop by for a bite. But he also knew that a business could appear rosy on the outside while its owner struggled silently to make ends meet. He hoped this wasn't the case for his cousin. Verity’s cafe had always seemed a labour of love and since she’d taken it over two years ago, she’d seemed not just more cheerful but more alive.

“Good enough to keep me self sufficient and out from under Father’s thumb. Then again he bought me the cafe in the first place--my consolation prize since he believed I’d never marry,” she said.

“Verity, I’m sure he doesn't…” Ross stammered.

“Have faith in my ability to attract a mate? Oh, but Ross, that's where he’s wrong. I’ve found someone, someone special and now we’re even talking about marrying…” she said with a blushing smile.

“Verity! That's stupendous. But to keep it a secret? Why so cloak and dagger? Who is the bloke?”

“Well, Ross, it isn’t a bloke. _Andrea_ is a pilot. She does the daily flight to Manchester out of Newquay and we’ve been together just over a year.”

“A year? And you haven’t brought her round? But really, that’s wonderful. You’re happy together?”

“Very much so but that’s all the more reason why it’s important to keep the cafe afloat so I can be free to live my own life, especially since it is nearly certain Father will cut all ties with me soon.”

“He doesn’t know, I’m assuming.” Ross could feel her dilemma.

“No, he doesn’t know about Andrea. But Elizabeth does. Ruth Teague saw me with Andrea in Truro and said something to Elizabeth. I imagine word will get out knowing Ruth, but Elizabeth been very supportive and discreet. She’s a kind and decent person, Ross.”

“I’m sure she is,” he said simply. He did not want to talk about Elizabeth.

“Although she has been trying to convince me to tell Father. I just need to find the right time. Maybe after the baby is born, he’ll be in good spirits to finally have the son he’s always wanted…"

“So it’s to be a boy then?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why that mattered to him.

Verity nodded.

“Verity, are you sure Uncle Charles wouldn't come to accept this? It’s who you are and who you love.”

“Ross, have you not listened to the hate-filled things that come out of his mouth? His views are very narrow and he has never been effusive in his affection for me, as it is,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Well, no matter what, you have me and my love and support. And I want to meet Andrea, soon,” he said, taking her hand in his with a warm squeeze.

“It’s kind of you to say. If I find myself homeless I can come live in your broom cupboard.”

“No, I’ve the rooms above the north barn ready now.”

“So you’re moving ahead with your Airbnb plan after all?” she asked.

This had been another of Ross’s new schemes--a desperate one to help make ends meet until after the hops were harvested.

“By the end of the summer I hope to have completed enough repairs on the main house to make it comfortable for guests. What’s left is well...‘rustic charm’. And a working farm makes for an authentic experience, which apparently tourists seek out,” he explained. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to sharing his space with strangers but every cent counted. He was still hopeful he could arrange matters so he’d have minimal contact with any guests. Maybe he could sleep in his truck.

“That’s brilliant, Ross. I hope it works out for you.”

“Even if it brings in just a little extra cash, it will be worth it. Of course Prudie’s not overjoyed at the extra housework that we’ll have, but I suspect Demelza will be of help there.”

“I’ll send loads of referrals your way,Ross,” Verity said. “By the way, does the name George Warleggan mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“Oh I thought he'd been at school with you,” she said.

“Yes, _that_ George, of course. We always called him ‘Bull’. I suppose that wasn't very kind. Everything about him had appeared a bit thick. Why?”

“He's a developer now and has been spending a lot of time with Father. They aren’t partners but seem to have some business together.”

“Does this trouble you?” Ross asked. There was a hint of worry in her voice now.

“Well, his approach is different,” she replied after thinking carefully for a moment. “Father likes to repackage neglected properties and parcels of land to sell to foreign investors, who then largely remain absent. Of course to Father anyone from north of Devon is foreign. But George, is different. He, well, he has no qualms about _displacing_ people. Pulling buildings down, raising rents. And he’s been making his presence felt in Truro lately. My neighbours can no longer afford to let their bakery space next door to the cafe. George is their landlord as of last month.”

“Are you in danger?” Ross asked.  

“Oh no. Not unless Father sold to George, which I don't think he would. Even to spite me. Father too has that Poldark streak and is not easily parted with something he took the bother to acquire.”

“I hate to see so much change,” Ross sighed.

Verity stopped to face him then squeezed his hand.

“Oh Ross, everything is always changing. Always has been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a bit of research on hop cultivating and found it to be fascinating stuff (https://www.lansingcitypulse.com/stories/the-life-cycle-of-the-hop,1548)
> 
> Almost makes me what to try it on my own--or just go drink an ale. Please forgive any liberties or mistakes I made. T'was all in the name of fiction.


	7. The Chicken & the Fox

“Fuckin’ hell!” Ross heard Demelza mutter from inside the west barn. He was curious to see what was irking her, so he abandoned his plans to work indoors on the farm accounts, and walked over to peer in.

She had finished stacking bags of feed on a wooden pallet and now was angrily gathering the plastic bins she used for feeding the goats. On the other side of the pen, the kids clambered to get closer to her, stepping on one another, incessantly bleating to get her attention. They didn’t just expect to be fed by her hands but knew them to be affectionate as well.

This afternoon, however, Demelza seemed oblivious to their desperate calls. Slamming the bins in the corner in a huff, she absently kicked at a coil of rope then stopped, and threw it over her shoulder.

“Come on Garrick,” she grumbled to the dog. “What makes a body so foolish as to think she could just ignore everyone and go do her own thing?”

“Are you referring to anyone I know?” Ross asked, trying to lighten her seemingly grey mood. It was an unusual reversal.

“Yeah, that stupid Marzipan…” she began without looking up at him.

“Marzipan?” he asked.

“Number 48, one of Amy’s little girls. The one with the pretty black ears,” she said. “She’s always so fuckin’…” She stopped to correct her language when she saw Ross’s raised brow. “She’s so _damn_ curious and always off explorin’. She don’t know her place!” she added indignantly.

“Sounds like someone I know. But you know, a thirst for knowledge isn’t a bad thing, Demelza.”

“It is when you’re a little goat and push through a fence. Now me an’ Garrick have to go out and look fer her. Could take hours, then I’ll be behind in my chores…” she grumped.

This was unlike her. Usually she’d see goat wrangling as an adventure, a perk of the job.

“She could be anywhere if she went through that fence,” she continued. “Hope she’s not on Bodrugan’s land. That mental lady might shoot her.”

“Constance Bodrugan is odd but at least she’s a bad aim,” Ross laughed. “You think the goat’s gone that far?”

“Yeah. Possibly. Can I take Adele, Mister Ross?”

“Who’s Adele?” he asked.

“Yer horse.”

“Is that her name now? I thought her name was Elsa.”

“Not since Christmas, Mister Ross,” she said with a dismissive sigh.

It was hopeless to try to keep up. The girl--and her mind--just moved too fast, wandering from one thing to another. She had already walked past him towards the stable without waiting for his reply. Intrigued, he followed her and watched as she began to silently saddle the grey mare.

At Demelza’s touch, Adele’s ears pointed forward then to the side. Excited to get moving, the horse let out a soft snuff from relaxed nostrils.

“Let me go with you,” Ross offered. “If I take the tractor we can cover twice as much ground in half the time.”

She stopped midway through buckling the bridle to look at him--it was almost a glare then she caught herself and exhaled impatiently.

“Mister Ross, that will hardly work, will it?” she said. “The tractor will spook Adele.”

“I’ll go west and you can go northeast,” he countered.

“And then if you find Marzipan? Are you gonna put her under yer arm and still somehow manage to drive the tractor back?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he laughed. “Do you really think you can manage the kid while on a horse?”

“Oh, no, yer right,” she said and fell into a moment of quiet contemplation. “I’m stupid not to have…”

“Look,” he said, growing a little worried by her unusual moodiness. Well, it was probably not unusual for a _normal_ teenager but just not usual for her. “Let’s go together--on the horse. Then if we find her, one of us can walk back with the goat and one of us can ride. We can take it in turns.”

“Both on the horse?” she asked.

He looked her up and down for a minute, then nodded.

“You are not yet so grown that we can’t both fit. But I get the front and you have to let me manage the reins…”

This plan was apparently agreeable to her, for a grin spread across her face and she began to lead the horse from her stall with the slightest little skip returned to her step.

 _“When_ we find her...not _if_ ,” Demelza said. “You gotta be optimistic.”

“Is that so?” He laughed and swung up on the horse then extended his hand to her.

It was only an awkward ride for the first few minutes until Demelza settled in and allowed herself to hold tightly to Ross with both her arms and her legs. He knew it was difficult for her, how she hated ceding control, but finally she rested her cheek against his back, trusting his horse handling. Adele took the weight of the extra rider in good spirits and after a brief huff of questioning Ross’s commands, assumed a steady trot. Ross wanted to keep her slow, both for their safety and to allow them to better scour the fields for the wayward goat. But she was a fast horse and eager to break free, especially when she saw Garrick racing up ahead of them. No wonder Demelza liked her so much.

They had ridden about ten minutes when they reached the spot of the fence that had been compromised and got down to inspect. It seemed someone had widened the gaps between the wire bracing--either to get out or to get in.

“Hope it wasn’t a fox,” she said.

“A fox is more sly and wouldn’t plow its way through. He’d go under or find some clever way ‘round,” Ross replied.

Garrick gave a quick sniff then went off to find his own adventure. He had no interest in searching for a wayward goat--apparently there was not enough hound in him to find following a scent compelling.

“Whereas a stubborn little goat head would just keep rammin’ and rammin’ until she’d gotten her way!” Demelza laughed. “It’s a miracle she didn't get her whole body stuck.”

“You think this is where she went?” Ross asked scanning the fields.

“Look Mister Ross!” Demelza pointed across the meadow. About two hundred yards in the distance, the little goat was quietly munching wildflowers, oblivious to the presence of its would-be captors.

“You stay here and I’ll sneak over to…” Ross whispered but Demelza had already begun to climb over the fence.

She took about ten good paces forward then whistled. This caught the goat’s attention and it looked up unblinking.

“Marzipan! Dinner time!” Demelza called.

So much for stealth.

“Demelza!” Ross hissed. “You’ve alerted her, now she’ll only run away…” But to his surprise the goat turned when it heard Demelza’s voice again and called back.

“ _Baah-eh-eh-eh!”_

“Marzipan!”

The girl took a few more steps into the meadow and the kid immediately came bounding towards her. Demelza didn't need to go far to reach the goat for it knew to trust her and came happily on its own. In a few minutes, Demelza had the rope around its neck and the wriggling bleating kid in her arms.

“You naughty thing! Such trouble you caused. I had to come all this way to fetch you home,” she chided. “Why don’t you know yer place?”

The plan had been to take it in turns, as Ross had proposed. One would carry the goat while the other rode. But in the end, Ross felt indebted to Demelza for her role in the goat rescue and let her ride while he was on goat duty. He tried pulling Marzipan by the lead but found it more efficient to carry her under his arm. She nibbled first at the dark hair on his hand, then the cuffs of his shirt, then his wrist watch.

The early evening sun was still bright but just beginning to show signs of fading rosy pink where it met the horizon. It had been such a warm and glorious summer--unlike any Ross could remember. He reminded himself that he mustn't come to count on such weather in subsequent years and take too many risks with the hops. Was he really daring to think about the future?

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he thought to ask Demelza as he walked beside the horse. He suspected it was mere minutes before she begged to go racing ahead of him.

“A vet!” she said without hesitation.

“Of course,” he laughed. He should have known.

“But bein’ a vet takes lots of schoolin’ so I'll probably start with bein’ a vet tech,” she said, as though she had thought this out before.

“That's a good plan,” he nodded.

“Yeah, well they counsel us on that in school. You know, what courses we need to be on, what exams we’ll need…”

Ross remembered the counseling he got in school. _Don’t aim too high or be too unrealistic. Be practical. But dream big--with the proper confidence and hard work you can do anything._ They never saw how the messages got muddled. Just who was it who’d suggested the army to him?

“Do you ever get... _other_ counseling?” he dared to ask.

“Sometimes,” she said, “but I stop sayin’ much if they start askin’ questions about my dad. It’s not just me but also my brothers I have to think of.” She replied to his query so openly, so earnestly. He recalled in a flash her trusting arms around his waist on the ride over. Why did she have such faith in him?

“Does your dad hit your brothers?” he asked gently.

“No, just me because I’m a girl and because I remind him of mum and because he is so full of anger it has to come out somewhere,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“But he hasn't for a while?” Ross needed reassurance on that score.

“No, he hasn’t,” she said with a weak smile then gave a quick laugh to let him know she was changing the subject. “What do you want to be, Mister Ross?”

“When I grow up?”

“When you get older, I mean. Do you like farmin’?”

“I used to not but you may have noticed I’m stubborn. I want to make this farm work and thwart any land development.”

“Don't tell your uncle that,” she laughed.

Ross was surprised she’d caught that about a man she’d only heard of but never actually met. But maybe he wasn’t surprised after all--she was a quick learner.

“And I like the physical labour and the problem solving,” he went on. Was he trying to convince himself?

“Well, we’ve got lots of problems to solve, don’t we?” She laughed again and he felt moved by the warmth and camaraderie she offered in that moment. But there was also a wisdom, a maturity--she sounded like a matronly aunt or an old neighbour he might meet at the pub, not a fourteen year old girl.

“How do you do at school, Demelza?” he asked and instantly felt ashamed that he’d never thought of inquiring sooner.

“I get on okay. I like some of it and I do well. Well enough so no one notices me _too much_ , but not so well that they'd notice me more.”

“When do you find the time to do your revising and homework?”

“I used to stay up late but last term I started doin’ it in the mornin’. I'm up early anyway and I found I prefer it then. My head is clear and it’s more quiet.”

“Up early, you’d make a good farmer,” he mused.

“I also think about stuff when I'm workin’ here. You know, run though my Spanish verbs or my chemistry formulae while I'm tendin’ the pigs or groomin’ the horse or haulin’ manure.”

“That's the sign of a good mind,” he said.

“No one has ever called me that before.” She snorted a little laugh.

“Well if you need space for homework when school starts up again, tell me and we can set aside time for you. Here I mean--you can use my library.”

“Thanks, Mister Ross,” she said and rode silently next to him, deep in thought. “Oh! This is just like the farmer, the fox, and the sack of grain,” she cried after a few minutes.

“What is?”

“The horse, the tractor, and the goat is like that riddle. The farmer has to get the chicken and the fox _and_ the grain across in a boat but can only take one at a time and he can’t leave the fox alone with the chicken or the chicken with the grain so...do you know it?” she rambled on.

“Yes, but this isn't quite the same...”

“Well, if we’d taken the tractor it would have meant an extra trip. Let’s see how would that have worked?” she pondered. “Once we found her, you could have taken the tractor home then come back by foot for the goat but then I’d have to stay with the goat so what would that mean for the horse? I guess she could stay too.”

“It’s not the same thing at all, Demelza,” he laughed at her persistence. “Ok tell me, are you the fox or the chicken?”

“Who says I’m not the sack of grain?” she giggled. “Oh there's the rope! I could have tied up the horse and carried the goat…”

“Or tied up the goat and ridden the horse…” he replied.

“But not with the tractor…”

The endless iterations seemed to entertain them for the remainder of the journey home. Once back at Nampara, Ross led Adele to her stall to rub her down while Demelza took Marzipan to the goat pen to be reunited with her siblings. She fed all the flock their evening meal, with a little extra for her prodigal kid, then met Ross in the yard to see what Prudie might have waiting in the kitchen for them.

They were both still laughing but not about anything in particular anymore when they stepped into the dark kitchen.

“ _Grrhhh_ …” a low wheezing sound emerged from the shadows. They were not alone.

Demelza froze at once and Ross instinctively stepped in front of her.

Tom Carne was sitting at the table and it didn’t take much examination to see he was drunk. Prudie was nowhere to be seen.

“Mister Carne, were you _invited_ into my house?” Ross started.

“Back door was open,” the man said gruffly. “Come to take my daughter home. Get yer self changed before you come into my car. You smell like a goat,” he snarled to the girl.

“Demelza,” Ross’s voice was firm but had a secret warmth to it. It let her know he was managing the scene and was in control. “Find Prudie in her room and tell her I said it’s urgent. Then you go wait in the parlour.”

“Yes, Mister Ross.”

Prudie came in a few minutes later and as soon as she saw Tom Carne, her eyes narrowed and she began to wring her hands.  

“What’s this, Captain Ross?” she hissed. Ross could detect a low growl forming at the back of her throat. It would do no good to have Prudie and this man come to blows in his home. He had to remain calm.

“Mister Carne has come to take his daughter home but he’s in no shape to drive,” Ross explained.

“Whassat? You little...Whassit to you the state I’m in?” Tom Carne erupted. “If I hear one more word from yer pretty boy mouth I’ll…” He tried to stand but his legs got tangled under the table. He caught himself before he fell on the floor, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand menacingly.

“You’ll do no such thing, you stinkin’ _penn-kalgh_. You ent gettin’ behind that wheel with yer girl and that's final!” Prudie spat.

“An’ jus’ what if I do? She’s my own daughter…” The man shifted his jaw to grind his yellow, pointy teeth. It was a mouth that had probably been punched a fair number of times and for good reason.

“Then as soon as you drive away from this farm, regardless of who you have with you, I’ll ring the constable and he will intercept you within a mile. You won’t be driving anytime soon after that, Mr. Carne. Can you really say it’s worth it?” Ross said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You wouldn't dare…” Tom Carne was still seated but swayed a bit nonetheless.

“Oh yes he would and so would I. We'll hear no more from yer filthy mouth,” Prudie concluded and marched off to tend to the girl.

\---

Prudie took Demelza in Tom Carne’s car while Ross drove the man in his truck. The entire drive to Illogan, Tom Carne said nothing, which was just as well, for Ross wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself were the man to speak ill of Demelza.

Ross felt a bit like the fox left alone with the chicken but knew that it was the better pairing, and that Tom Carne was safer with him than with Prudie. And this way Prudie could keep an eye on Demelza, maybe help calm her agitation in a way Ross couldn’t. Ross sensed that if the girl saw him upset she’d only get more fretful and would then try to soothe him. That certainly wasn’t her responsibility, and he couldn’t add another layer of complexity to her already troubled evening.

Ross was angry at Tom for his darkness, for his cruel ways, but mostly for having ruined Demelza’s mood. She’d shaken off whatever was bothering her earlier that day and once she was in the fields, had grown lighter. She’d laughed and spoke of her thoughts of the future. That’s what she should be doing--playing, dreaming, and wondering. Ross marveled at how she’d learned to be so attentive, so tender to living things having spent all those years in her father’s house?

Ross should have bothered to ask her what was troubling her earlier. Of course it was most likely her home life--just because Ross could forget it from time to time didn’t mean she could. Ross had been a fool to think he’d somehow managed her father this past year, that the man’s poisonous threats didn’t extend as far as Nampara. He had been wrong, of course--and it would be more years still before they’d really be free from the hateful shadow of Tom Carne.

 


	8. Nampara Girl

Ross had washed off another dirty day in the fields and was just coming downstairs when he stopped in the hallway. He smelled it before he saw it. 

The Nampara kitchen usually had a vaguely greasy smell--a stale odor of warmed over potatoes lingered permanently, sometimes it mingled with the smell of something burnt. But today the scents were different, inviting. Warm spices, some ginger and some garlic, then more layers--one sweet and another that was smoky, but appealingly so. It wasn’t just enticing but somehow served to put Ross’s mind at ease. One less thing in his life he’d have to bristle against.

He breathed deeply again and strode into the kitchen to find the table laid with what looked to be sweet potato curry soup, parmesan scones, and roasted asparagus spears wrapped in bacon.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“The girl made supper,” Prudie said, not turning away from the telly she was watching.  

Ross hadn’t liked the idea of moving a television into the kitchen but then figured it wasn’t really his work space and if it meant Prudie spent less time alone in her room and more time out in the house--where she was supposed to be busy--then perhaps it was a battle he wouldn’t fight.

“Where’d she learn to do that?” Ross asked and sat down at a plate that seemed to be meant for him. There was no sign of Demelza around, so without waiting for a formal invitation, he greedily took spoon in hand.

“Cookin’ channel on the telly. She watches it all the time and wanted to give it a try,” Prudie responded.

The soup was amazing--tangy, warm, rich--and certainly lived up to the hype its own aroma had created. Ross picked up a scone and was not disappointed by the salty crust of melted cheese; it begged to be dipped in the bowl. He was trying not to smack his lips in anticipation before devouring the asparagus.

“Do you ever watch it with her?” Ross asked Prudie after a few uninterrupted moments of tucking into the food in front of him. He thought he was being diplomatic but she saw through him and left the room in a huff. 

But what Prudie perceived as an insult worked to his advantage. From that point on, Demelza cooked their evening meals quite regularly. 

\-----

“You brought them! Oh Verity! I’ll bet they’re amazin’!” Demelza helped Verity lift the box from the boot of the car and began to dance about with it in her arms.

“Here, I think you’ll like this one--it’s pink--try it on,” Verity replied holding up a medium sized t-shirt that read ‘Nampara Hopyard’. She laughed amused by the girl’s enthusiasm. “Just in time for your first guests, Ross. Tell me, when do they arrive?”

“There’s a Norwegian family coming on the 8th. They’ll be taking over the entire house for almost a week,” Ross explained. 

“How’s Prudie taking that?” Verity asked.

“Well, her room has a separate entrance so she can stay put and try her best to ignore the new arrangement. I suspect we’ll see little of her.” Ross said. He’d been standing by watching Verity and Demelza unload the box but couldn’t understand what exactly was the fuss.

It had been Verity’s idea to have t-shirts made to sell to vacationers and holiday makers, a souvenir of their time on a working hops farm, and Demelza’s to have at least some of them done in pink.

“Why is everything pink with her?” he muttered. 

Pink did seem to be the girl’s latest obsession and that winter she’d even dyed a nice stripe of pink in her hair. At the time it had been a bold move for the girl and one that seemed to give her a strange, new confidence. More and more, instead of shrinking into the shadows and hiding among the pigs, she was now asking to be noticed. 

“Well, Mister Ross? Do you like it?” Demelza had asked him the first time she debuted her pink locks in the Nampara kitchen. Ross only slightly raised his eyes from the invoices he was scanning and grunted an acknowledgement that she’d spoken.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggled.

“Well, it’s only temporary and won’t last forever,” Prudie reasoned, trying to convince herself it wasn’t that bad. She’d been hoping to persuade Demelza to go blonder but the girl had scoffed at lightened hair as “too artificial”--somehow pink was perfectly natural in her reasoning. “Better than goin’ jet black and bein’ all Goth like they did when Captain Ross was a boy.”

“Were you, Mister Ross? Did you wear like, _actual eyeliner_? I can’t imagine that…can’t imagine you as a teenager at all, come to think of it,” Demelza added.

“Prudie, what sort of tales are you spinning here? I was hardly a Goth, Demelza.” Ross shook his head and gave a faint laugh.

“Alright, not a proper Goth but he was dark and gloomy all the same, listened to the most depressin’ music…” Prudie went on.

“Mister Ross still listens to depressin’ music,” Demelza laughed. “Why’d they even call themselves _Joy Division_ if there’s no joy in ‘em?” 

“Demelza, they’re named after…” he began then saw she was teasing him. He’d explained this to her before but it had been an ongoing joke between them. Whenever Demelza rode in the truck with Ross, she was forever trying to switch on the radio but he insisted on listening to the odd pile of CDs he kept stuffed in the cupholder.  

Once, while Ross was playing Tom Waits, she shook her head and said, “I think this might actually be the most borin’ song in the universe.”

“You’ll change your mind when you’re older,“ he said.

“I doubt that,” she sighed and put in her earbuds.

Since Demelza had been back out in the fields that spring most of the shocking pink had faded from her hair and what remained just blended in with her natural strawberry blond. Apparently she now had to look elsewhere for her required dose of colour.

“Oh Ross, pink isn’t so bad and she’s just having fun,” Verity said. She'd obviously grown fond of the girl. “Why not have something bright around here to counter your grey doom? But since you ask, there are other colours too. Tonkin and Trevaunance are thrilled with the idea, you know, so we had this batch made specifically to sell at the Carnmore tent at the festival. Tonkin had coasters made too, of course.”

Truro was to hold a festival the following week with street food, craft stalls, local talent--the usual fare--but this year it also boasted several special events celebrating the uptick in local brewing. Richard Tonkin and John Trevaunance owned the small brewery--Carnmore--that Ross had sold most of his hops harvest to. It was a partnership that held tremendous promise. 

“We’ve had a good run--we’ve been lucky--but I’d rather not call such attention to…” Ross began.

“You sound superstitious, Ross! When did you start acting like Aunt Agatha! As much as you may not like the way business works, you need to be savvy and play the game,”  Verity explained.

He tried not to roll his eyes.

“And the lads at Carnmore think your hops are what’s made a difference this past year and will put them on the map. They just want to highlight that their beer is not only brewed locally like a dozen other new start ups, but theirs is also made with _local hops_ \--Nampara Hops. It’s a sort of…”

“Please don't say branding. I’d rather take a hot iron to my own forehead!” Ross sputtered.

“Oh yes? And just what would it say, Ross?” Verity laughed. “I could think of a few choice words to describe you…”

He reluctantly smiled at her joke, pleased that she was in good spirits. The past year had been a good one for Verity. Although she hadn’t yet opened up with her father about her relationship with Andrea Blamey as she had planned, being in love clearly suited her. She had a merry smile on her lips and a blush to her cheeks--she looked about ten years younger whereas Ross seemed to have aged a decade in just a few months.

Ross had met Andrea on several occasions and found he liked her. She was smart and had a sharp sense of humour but most importantly, she took Verity’s happiness seriously. He thought them a good match and hoped his cousin would be brave enough to share this important part of herself with the rest of her family. Six months after the birth of his much longed for son, Uncle Charles was still beaming with pride but brusque as ever with Verity. He was completely preoccupied with his baby, Geoffrey Charles, and seemed rather uninterested in any other relatives, except of course for his young wife, Elizabeth. And she remained stunningly beautiful--apparently motherhood agreed with her.

Knowing that Uncle Charles was detached from Verity and Elizabeth remained distant from him, Ross tried his best to stay away from the Trenwith Road Poldarks unless the rare family obligation required his presence. But more often than not, Verity came to see him at Nampara, so Ross still felt connected to some family--to the one that mattered to him anyway.

“They are expecting record crowds at the Truro festival this year,” Verity said.

“Great. _More_ tourism.”

“Ross, if they are coming anyway, at least they should come for uniquely local things. I mean, once they’re here why should they drink the same thing they could get in Manchester or Newcastle? Cornwall craft beer is gaining notoriety and I think that’s brilliant. It’s another special feature about the place.” She’d been thinking about the increased tourism a lot and unlike Ross, felt it wasn’t all bad. Of course there were ways it benefited local businesses, as long as it was properly engineered and didn't go unchecked.

“We already have better beaches, they needn’t come for our distinct beer too,” Ross replied.

“You almost sound like you don’t want the small breweries to succeed!”

“No, I just don't want to be the front man for its commercialisation,” he sighed.

“Too late for that I’m afraid. The success of your hopyard is inspiring! I’ve heard from my insider sources that Carnmore is a favourite to win the gold medal this year. They deserve it--I’ve always been a fan of their Grambler Copper Ale but the new Wheal Leisure IPA and the Wheal Reath Session IPA are really outstanding. Very hopsy--piney, grassy…”

“You could just go lick the fields if that appeals to you,” he joked.

“Ross!” She laughed and hit his arm affectionately. 

“What does ‘wheal’ mean anyway?” Demelza came back out wearing the shirt she’d been given. “I seen the word all over but never thought to ask.”

“It’s Cornish for ‘place of work’ but it’s often associated with old copper and tin mines--many had 'wheal' in their names,” Ross explained. “Carnmore calls all their beers after historic mines.”

“I think it’s cute--and distinctly local,” Verity winked. 

“Oh, yeah I guess that’s where I seen it--when we went on that school trip to Wheal Coates. Did you learn Cornish in school back in your day, Mister Ross?”

“No... _Back in my day_? Demelza, exactly how old do you think I am?” he laughed.

“Maybe forty something?” she offered.

Verity tried hard to contain her snort of laughter; Ross was clearly less amused by Demelza’s gaffe.

“My dear, that’s adorable,” Verity said, looking at Demelza in the pink shirt and trying to change the subject. “It’s also very flattering on you,” she added.

At that Ross glanced quickly down at his feet. Instinctively he did not want to look for evidence that the girl’s fifteen year old body had begun to take on curves and that the cut of the shirt might accentuate them at all. Oblivious to Ross’s flash of discomfort, Demelza whirled around.

“Who are all these folks, anyway?” she asked Verity, awkwardly trying to point to the list of names on the back of the shirt.

“Oh those are all the sponsors who are underwriting the festival this year.” 

“Takes a lot of folks to put on a festival, I suppose,” Demelza said. 

“Warleggan Builders & Developers Ltd.?” Ross scanned the list and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, George’s pawprints are all over this event. It remains to be seen if it is for the better. Ok, Ross, you need a shirt too. What colour then…How about blue?”

“Yes, Mister Ross looks good in blue, don’t you think?” Demelza said.

“Don’t you have black?” he asked.

“See, I knew you’d been a Goth!” Demelza exclaimed.

\---

“Hey Miss! You, Nampara Girl! How much for the shirt?”

“£12.50,” Demelza shouted back over the loud music that boomed from the stage up the road. Ross had given her the day off from the farm but she’d been working all day nonetheless. She’d helped Verity at the cafe earlier in the afternoon and once sprung there, had wandered over to the Carnmore Brewery tent, where she was put to work straightaway selling merch--Carnmore glasses, keyrings and bottle openers, and of course Nampara t-shirts. She didn’t mind--she liked being busy and the excitement of the festival was such a contrast to her usual quiet and predictable routine. 

“More interested in whas innit, know what I mean?” the man replied with a wink. His cheeks were red--from too much sun and too much drink--his bleary eyes settled on Demelza’s chest.

She might have found his leering more threatening had she not been surrounded by so many other adults--all friendly faces.

“Sorry, sir, yer at the wrong sort of festival if that’s what yer lookin’ for,” she snorted and turned away from the sale.  

“Everything okay, Demelza?” Richard Tonkin asked. 

She liked Mister Tonkin, one of the owners of Carnmore, and a new friend to Mr. Ross. He had kind eyes and the glossiest beard she’d ever seen. In all the times Demelza had met him, Tonkin always seemed to be in a permanently cheerful mood, even when things weren’t going his way. She wondered if he would have any influence on her own employer.

“Oh, everythin’s fine,” she said  brightly. If she told Mister Tonkin about the man’s rude comment, he might send her away. She didn’t want to worry anyone and really just wanted to be of help. They were so busy today and anxious too, for the judging of the beer competition was to happen later that evening. Carnmore had several entries this year--Wheal Leisure IPA and the Wheal Reath Session IPA, both made from Ross’s hops.

“Nampara Girl?” Tonkin laughed. “That has a nice ring to it. Maybe we’ll try a summer ale next.”

“Hey Nampara Girl,” Jim whispered to her. “Why don’t you see if you can get us a drink?”

“Not fucking likely,” Demelza laughed and looked at him with raised brows. It was a stupid idea but Jim was full of those, she’d found. Like the time he had used pig manure to fertilise the kitchen garden.

“C’mon, Demelza. Tonkin would totally pour _you_ one. He probably thinks you’re older than you really are and anyway it’s different for girls. They can always get drinks when they’re underage…” Jim continued to plead his case.

“And then, what if they found out we was underage? You’d really do that to Mister Ross?” Her arms were crossed and she was tapping her foot, Prudie-style. It was an easy argument for Demelza to make. Ross had trust in her and she’d never do anything to put that in jeopardy. Besides, she’d decided recently that she didn’t really like ale.

“You two enjoying yourselves?” Ross asked suddenly. 

Unaware that Ross had come up behind him, Jim was immediately terrified he’d been overheard in his scheming. The boy’s face flushed red and his head hung at once. 

“Why yes, and you, Mister Ross?” Demelza asked, thoroughly amused by Jim’s discomfort.

“Well, this isn’t exactly my scene. I was thinking we’d go home soon…” Ross muttered.

“And miss the judgin’? Oh Mister Ross!” she cried.

“Sometimes I think you’re more invested in this venture than I am, Demelza,” Ross replied. “Okay, we can stay longer if you’d like.”

“You’d be doin’ it for Mister Tonkin,” she smiled.

“Of course, for Tonkin.”

“Mister Ross? Who’s that man over there with Mister Trevaunance?” Demelza pointed to two men huddled in conversation behind the tent.

John Trevaunance--the other co-owner of Carnmore--had his head bent attentively while a shorter man gripped his arm and waggled a menacing finger about. The shorter man seemed angry and was threatening Trevaunance, not with any physical intimidation but maybe with his words.

“That’s George Warleggan,” Ross answered, growing curious himself.

“Well whatever he’s sayin’ to Mister Trevaunance don’t look like good news…” Demelza observed.

“No, it does not,” Ross agreed. “Perhaps I should go see…”

But before Ross could finish his sentence, Trevaunance jerked away from Warleggan, and looking over his shoulder furtively, walked away in great haste.

“Oh Mister Ross! You are wearin’ it after all,” Demelza exclaimed when she noticed the blue t-shirt peeking out from Ross’s plaid shirt. “But you can’t be hidin’ it,” she laughed and undid a few more of his buttons to reveal the white lettering. “That’s better,” she declared.

“Alright, a photo then, all in your matching shirts,” Tonkin called out. “You too, young Jim!” 

Later, that photo got a place of honor on the wall in Tonkin’s office at Carnmore, right next to the framed picture of him and Trevaunance receiving both gold and silver medals at the Truro competition. In the shot Tonkin had captured of the Nampara Hopyard crew, Ross was in the middle, his arms around Jim and Demelza who were laughing on either side of him. And for once, Ross Poldark was smiling.

  
  
  
  



	9. Outrunning the Shadows

“Mister Ross?” Jim had always called him just Ross but recently had taken to adding Mister, since it was what Demelza did. Apparently she had some sort of an influence on him.

“Yes, Jim. What is it?” Ross answered. The boy seemed troubled, and worried about what he was going to say.

“It’s not my place but I thought you maybe should know. It’s, well, it’s Demelza. Look,” he muttered and pointed over to Demelza just visible through the stable door.

The girl was wearing track pants, her favourite pink Ibiza t-shirt, wellies--her normal work attire. And sunglasses. It was a grey, overcast day. There was no need for shades.

_What’s she hiding?_

Ross’s heart fell and a rush of anger rose from his gut that he wasn’t quite prepared for. It had been months since the shadow of Tom Carne’s violent temper had crept into their lives. Ross’s first instinct was to get into his truck and go beat the hell out of the man, but he had enough sense to pause. He’d need to gather more information before he ran off half-cocked.

“Thanks, Jim,” Ross said reassuringly, and clapped the boy on the shoulder.  

He crossed the yard and stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to find the right words.

“Demelza, come talk to me a minute,” he said solemnly.  

“Yes, Mister Ross?” she said without looking up. Her hair, usually worn up or back when doing chores, was down today, almost making a curtain behind which to hide her face.

“You saw your father last night?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, he was home. Didn't quite expect that.”

“You’re here early this afternoon. Did you go to school today?” His voice was calm and measured, though the fire in his belly roared hotter.

“No. I...wasn’t quite up to it.”

“Demelza.” That was all Ross said but it was the way he said it that mattered--his tone was warm, rich with encouragement.

“Yes, Mister Ross….” Her response was simple but it too conveyed more meaning than the three words she actually spoke.  

“Can I see?” Now he was especially gentle. 

Without looking up, she lowered the sunglasses and pushed her hair behind her ears.

“Good God, Demelza!” Ross’s face betrayed his horror.

She had the red-grey shadow of a mark next to her eye and another on her cheek bone. 

“He thought I’d knocked over his lager. Listen, I give him space and I stay away. There was no way I’d come between him and his drink. He probably did it himself and didn't even remember. Any way he slapped me with the back of his hand... here and here.”

Ross winced when she touched her face and marveled at the conflicted feelings he held. Tenderness for the girl. Murderous rage for her father. Somehow he realised he needed to take a practical tack.

“Have you put ice to it? It might not be too late to take down some swelling.”

“It don’t hurt. Not now anyway. It’s...it just don’t look pretty,” she said looking at her feet. “It should be gone by Monday.”

“Demelza...I can’t let this go. I have a responsibility…” He hated himself at that moment but what choice did he have? He somehow always knew this day would come--and yet he still had no idea how to proceed.

“Mister Ross,” she gasped. “Please don’t call social services. They’ll put us into care. All of us--and he don’t hurt my brothers. Not sure why he only hates me so much.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Ross said automatically. But could he be sure? What the hell was wrong with Tom Carne that he couldn’t see the beauty and goodness of this girl? Why was the wretched man so incapable of giving his daughter the love and care she deserved? 

“And then I won’t get to come here no more and help you. Mister Ross, please!” she cried.

“Demelza, I can’t let him hurt you anymore.” 

She was choking back desperate sobs now. The sounds that escaped her mouth came from somewhere deep. They were cries of fear, not fear of physical pain but fear of loss. Loss of freedom, loss of love.

“ _Please, please_ …” she begged.

He was completely unprepared for this emotional response from her. He’d seen her angry or disappointed but she’d never cried nor broken down entirely. She usually took setbacks in their course and just got on with it. They’d all come to count on her even temper and steadfast nature--all of them, even Jim who had started to look to her for advice when things went awry on the farm. To see her crumble meant something dire for all of them. 

“There may be a way,” Ross said, surprised by his own voice. He hadn’t really formulated the thoughts yet he was already impulsively putting them into words. “You know I’ve cleared out the rooms over the north barn.”

She nodded. She’d helped him, in fact, as this had been a long term project. The plan had been to take on Airbnb guests last autumn but they’d been too busy with the harvest so it was delayed until that spring. Their first guests arrived next week, and when they did, Ross would temporarily vacate the house and stay in the barn. Despite the success of the burgeoning hopyard, he still very much needed the extra income.

“I’ve asked Jim to live-in this coming summer but why don’t you as well? We’ve the space. There are two rooms ready now, but easily could be three if we worked on the one used for storage. It’s not luxury but there’s power and a shared bathroom. You could take the front room--it’s the biggest one--as soon as you’d like. Then you’d be here more and able to help Prudie with the cleaning, the linen changes, hoovering, etc. We’ll need a much higher standard of cleanliness than she’s used to if outsiders are staying with us.” He was trying to stress the practical side of this hastily hatched scheme.

“Really?” she looked at him through tear-filled eyes.

“You’d also be around in the early morning for the chores then, which you know is when the stock have most of their needs. But I don’t want to overwork you,” he added.

“It wouldn’t be too much at all! I wake early every day. I’d be happy to…”

“That is, if you think your family won’t miss you,” he said soberly. 

 _Perhaps their need for her is greater than mine_ , he thought.

“You know they don’t. My brothers sometimes notice me but only when they want something done for them that they're too lazy to do themselves,” she replied. 

“I’d talk to your father. You could go home anytime you wish but you can stay as long as you’d like. For summer holidays, it will work well. Then when school starts up again we can see how you feel.”

“Oh Mister Ross!” Her eyes, her smile revealed such relief, such gratitude, but a flicker of desperation remained. As though staying at Nampara was a matter of life or death for her.

_Good god, what have I just waded into?_

\----

Informing Tom Carne of this arrangement had been easier than Ross anticipated, largely because Demelza beat him to the punch.

“I’m gonna live at the farm for awhile,” she’d announced to her father that weekend, matter-of-factly. “There’s rooms above the barn for the help and I’m old enough now. Animals need me more.” Her tone was completely impassive and she wasn’t opening the door for debate.

“That so?” her father had said.

“Yeah,” she replied simply.

“And if we need you?”

“Ring me and I’ll come home. Be back now and then anyway,” she added casually. “You know how it is.”

“Poldark payin’ you any less? I mean takin’ anythin’ out for room and board?” he asked.

“No.”

“Awright then,” he nodded as though he cared that she was getting a fair deal. 

And that was it. So when Ross announced to Demelza on the following Monday that he was ready to talk to Tom Carne, she laughed and said, “If you like, but it’s already sorted ‘tween me and him.”

Ross was relieved but also surprised--or maybe just relieved--that her father had given in without a fight. Even if the man didn't care for her, he could have gotten territorial or mean and spiteful about it, just because, well, because he could. But Tom Carne just let the girl go and said nothing at all when Prudie showed up one afternoon to help Demelza with her belongings.

Demelza didn't take much from Illogan--a box of books, two bin bags of clothes, her pillow, and a holdall stuffed with the miscellaneous things teenage girls acquire but can’t part with--an assortment of glow-in-the-dark necklaces, several hair styling wands, a glass from Camel Creek Adventure Park, empty journals, a glittery carnivale masque, framed photos of her and other girls making kissy faces. She’d splurged and bought new pink bedding so she left much of her old room in tact for the Carnes to use as they saw fit.

Prudie had found an old rug in the linen closet that worked nicely across the painted grey floor of the barn bedroom. It had broad green stripes and only one stain that they maneuvered to hide under the bed. Demelza also nicked a half-dead horsehead philodendron from the Nampara parlour to tuck in the sunny corner that overlooked the yard. Of course no one minded and all assumed it would soon flourish again under her care.

The end result was simple, but bright and cheerful. And the girl loved it.

\---

The room that Ross had taken for himself was stark and grim in comparison, but at least was clean. He’d never really put much importance to where he laid his head at night anyway. His only slight regret was that the single bed was stiffer and of course smaller than the old mahogany bed he was used to back in his bedroom in the house. He laughed thinking that the bigger mattress was by far older than the one on which he was now tossing and turning, but somehow, since he knew its lumps inside and out, it seemed less troubling. It had been his father’s before Ross inherited the farm--had his parents shared that bed together? He never thought about it before. And it was probably better not to think of the strangers who were sharing it now.

The guests had seemed like nice people. Two quiet children with their noses in books, who barely looked up at their new surroundings--perhaps they were tired from traveling or perhaps it was just possible for children to actually be that reserved. The parents appeared to be gentle, happy people and had been holding hands when they came through the door. Ross wasn’t sure the last time he saw a married couple enjoy each others’ company. Maybe holidays did that for people--he couldn’t say. Were this man and woman now making love in Ross’s squeaky old bed?

It was still early--not quite ten--but Ross had been tired and thought the best way to deal with the dramatic changes in his living situation was to hide himself in sleep. And since that wasn’t coming easily, he sat up and fumbled for the bottle of whisky he’d thought to bring up with him. He didn't bother to switch on a light but still found what he was searching for easily. He poured his drink into a coffee mug--he hadn’t sunk so low that he’d drink straight from a bottle. But he was drinking alone in an empty room while another family now slept in his bed. Was that worse?

“Oh! Uhh...ah!” Low muttering that ended in a gasp came through the wall and Ross recalled that this was the first night he wasn’t alone in the barn.

Unsure if it was fright or despair he’d just heard, Ross was on his feet and outside of Demelza’s door before he had thought about how he might be compromising her privacy.

“Demelza? Are you okay?” he called lightly.

“Oh? Wha..? Mister Ross, that you? C’mon in,” she said.

“Is everything alright?” he asked again, quickly scanning the room for signs of danger. What he expected to see, he didn't know. Garrick was lying next to the girl on the bed, licking her exposed foot that stuck out from under the pink covers.

“Yes, just well, I started to drift off to sleep, then I guess I woke up suddenly. You know when you don't know where you are…”

“It can be startling, yes. Perhaps you’d sleep better if you turned these lights off,” he suggested and reached for the switch on the string of fairy lights she’d tacked to the wall above her bed.

“No, don’t, Can you leave them, Mister Ross? I mean, is that okay?”

Was she really asking for permission? She didn't tend to do that much these days. He laughed gently. He hadn’t pegged her as someone who was afraid of the dark--or afraid of anything really.

“I ain’t afraid of the dark,” she said stoutly as if reading his mind. She sat up and tried to look convincing. She was wearing the faded _Talk to me in Dalek_ t-shirt Prudie had found for her the first night she came to Nampara--of course she no longer swam in it as she had two years ago, but it was still big on her slight frame. 

“Of course you aren’t.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed again. How was it she’d ended up with a double bed? Well, he’d given her the bigger room so he supposed it made sense. 

“It’s just that in Illogan my room overlooks the back garden--it’s the neighbour’s garden really and there’s a light there that shines through the window--and also another light in the house behind ours that's always on.”  

It was, in fact, a curious steady blue glow that she’d only recently begun to suspect might be a grow operation since it was hidden from street view and was never turned off.

“Well, I’m just not used to it but--it’s so dark here in the country, Mister Ross!”

“And quiet too. You’ll get accustomed to it and then soon you won’t be able to sleep anywhere else. I had a hard time when I first entered the army and suddenly had to share a room with a dozen other men.”

“That many men together? They must have stunk!” she laughed.

“Another thing I grew used to.” He was glad to see her smile and was relieved that despite her small cry in the dark, it didn't seem to have been an actual nightmare. It never occurred to him that whatever troubles she kept hidden behind closed doors at Illogan might come to light here at Nampara.  

He gave her a friendly pat on the arm but when he moved his hand away, she shifted her own arm back under it, the way Garrick insistently nosed around for a petting. This time he gave it a quick squeeze, then rose to his feet.

“Good night, Demelza. I’m right down the hall if you need anything and the staircase door is locked with a double bolt in case you were worried…”

“I’m not worried. Good night, Mister Ross. Thank you,” she said softly.

Garrick gave a good stretch of his limbs then sighed deeply to announce he would not, in fact, be moving from Demelza’s side that night. Or any time soon.

\---

The next morning Ross woke stiff. It wasn’t just from the narrow uncomfortable bed but from sleeping heavily without moving at all--a drunken sleep. He stood and stretched, then thought he’d better get over to the kitchen and remind Prudie it was her duty now to provide their guests with breakfast. He’d let Demelza sleep in--it might have been a rough night for her.

But when he went to cross the yard he was surprised to see Demelza running up from the valley, Garrick at her heels. She was still too far away but he imagined she was laughing. He waited to greet her.

“Mornin’ Mister Ross!” she called, then remembered their sleeping guests and clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Garrick an’ me went down to look at the sea. Well, that’s where he _led_ me and I followed. I think he wanted to show me how pretty it looks in the mornin’ sun.”

“Indeed it is. But you’re up early,” Ross noted. “Did you sleep well enough?”

“Oh yes, but I couldn’t have slept any longer if I tried. You should have warned me!”

“Was it too quiet?”

“Not at all. Fucking hell, Mister Ross! The birds here--they’re so damn loud!”


	10. Pink & Blue

It had grown dark in the study where Ross slumped asleep in his chair. He'd been relieved to have the house back after two straight weeks of guests. While the first family had been quiet and unobtrusive, the next rounds were less so, each family more disruptive and demanding than the last. Still, as emotionally taxing as the Airbnb experiment was proving, it was bringing in some much needed revenue.

The days and evenings had grown much warmer so there was no longer a need for a fire in the grate to fight off any chills but the old armchair remained Ross’s refuge and sitting alone and thinking in it--or trying not to--was still his nightly ritual. So was, on occasion, the bottle.

Ross only half-stirred at the sound of the heavy oak door gently opening. The old farm house was not one for secrets and there wasn’t a floor board that didn't groan nor a hinge that didn't squeak. There’d be no creeping and sneaking about on its watch.

“Garrick!” Demelza whispered sharply to get the dog’s attention while trying not to disturb the quiet of the room. The dog, lying on a rug at Ross’s feet, raised his head and looked at her, then uneasily up at the man in the chair.

Ross woke and muttered something incoherent to even himself, vaguely aware of the slim shadow in the doorway.

“Demelza…” he mumbled, grabbing the arm holds and unsuccessfully attempting to push himself upright.

“Mister Ross? I was looking for Garrick but he don’t seem to want to leave you,” she said. She was hesitant to fully enter the room but then saw Ross didn't look capable of doing much on his own.

“Maybe you should get to bed, sir?” she asked tentatively. 

She was unsure of her role here. Should she walk away and leave before he grew embarrassed or angry? Or should she lend a hand to a friend in need? She found she couldn’t resist, and padded over to crouch beside him.

“Okay, Mister Ross,” she said, and taking his arm over her shoulder, lifted him to his feet. She was familiar with the delicate dance of tending to a drunken man. “Easy, sir. There, you’re on your feet now.”

“Yes, I should go up.” He took a step forward and stumbled a bit and caught her arm for balance. It took him a minute to focus but then he found her face and looked at her with brows knit. 

“You must be disappointed in me, Demelza,” he said to her.

“Must I?” she said wryly. “Maybe I’m disappointed you’re still drinkin’ cheap whisky. I thought the hops were doin’ well enough you could afford somethin’ finer,” she laughed. “Come on, then. I’ll help you up to bed.”

More fully awake now, he regained a bit of mobility and managed to make it up the stairs with only the slightest buttressing from her. Once he was in his room, he sat down on the bed with great effort, visibly relieved to feel the solid mattress under him. He started to roll over with his boots still on but she stopped him before his feet hit the duvet.

“No, no, Mister Ross. Let’s get those off you, shall we?” she said. She unlaced the heavy work boots and slipped them and his socks off one at a time. 

She was amused by this whole scene which hadn’t served to lower her esteem of him at all. If anything, to see him with his guard down, in need of her help, made him more human in her eyes. She also found it rewarding to show him some care since over the years he’d shown her so very much.

And she was relieved that, unlike her father, Ross wasn’t an angry drunk.

Ross’s eyes were closed now but he reached down and, by feel, unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers. Now clad only in a t-shirt and boxer briefs he rolled back on his side.  

At this she snorted with laughter. 

“Mister Ross? Maybe you’d better use the loo before you go to sleep, you know how it is...”

He opened his eyes, seeming to weigh her suggestion, then apparently agreed as he rose again on his leaden legs and aimed his body towards the doorway. She kept a few paces behind him until they reached their destination down the hallway, then she listened outside to be sure he hit his mark. When he emerged again she put her arm under him again until she got him back to his bed.  

She pulled the curtains so no morning light would disturb him and tiptoed towards the door. Garrick, curled at the foot of the bed now, looked up to let her know he’d be keeping guard over their master tonight.

“Good night to you then!” she said to the dog. “It looks like Mister Ross needs you more than I do.” She paused to look at the dark man already sound asleep and was surprised to feel a swell of tenderness in her chest. “Night, Mister Ross. I’ll see Prudie don’t hassle you in the mornin’,” she whispered.

 


	11. Training Day

June 2015

“Damn it!” Ross muttered. Dripping sweat stung his eyes but he was powerless to wipe it away. Both hands were occupied at the moment, racing to train the hop bines up the trellis wires. 

Demelza was on the other side of the row, her nimble fingers wrapping the young bines around the strings, then fastening them in place. She’d picked up the technique quickly and now tied bines faster than any of them. Jim, on the other hand, seemed to need endless toilet breaks and even when he was focused, Demelza often had to redo his work. 

“See, Jim, this one’s too loose. As soon as it gets heavy from rain it will come right undone,” she explained. “No Jim, wrap them _clockwise_ so they follow the sun durin’ the day,” she repeated.  

It had been raining incessantly for days and Ross was worried about what that might mean to the hops at this crucial stage of growth. He remained convinced that the ground in the hop yard drained well, so at least there was no fear of standing water rotting the roots. Today, however, was dry and exceptionally warm, so they were rushing while the sun shone to get as many bines trained as possible. Whatever was left after today would most likely have to be completed in the rain.

“Shit!” Jim muttered. He forever forgot how the tiny hairs along a bine could catch a bare hand that was run in the wrong direction. 

“Maybe you should wear gloves, Jim,” Ross grumbled.

Demelza laughed and shot Ross a conspiratorial glance. 

It was then Ross noticed the girl was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt. It seemed an odd choice for such a hot day but maybe she was trying to keep her fair skin covered from the direct rays of the sun. Still, she wasn’t protecting her face nor her bare legs. She had on her favourite shorts, which seemed a bit shorter after yet another growth spurt, and although it surely wasn’t her intention, they were greatly admired by Jim, who stared at Demelza’s long legs whenever he thought no one was watching.

Ross and Demelza continued their work at a furious pace, barely pausing to eat lunch. But shortly after two o’clock, the first rain drops could be felt. At first neither one of them said a thing, hoping they might delay the inevitable by simply ignoring it. Jim was the first to speak.

“Well it’s rainin’, guess we’re done then, aren’t we?” he said.

Ross looked up at the dark clouds forming. His inclination was to keep going, to push through, regardless of any downpour. But he saw that Demelza looked tired and knew they’d be back at it tomorrow anyway so perhaps it would be best to call it a day. Besides, there were plenty of indoor chores to attend to around the farm, rain or no rain, so they’d hardly be idle.

It was later, when he noticed Demelza hadn't pushed up her sleeves while rinsing out the goats’ water bucket, that Ross felt an alarm go off. Something wasn’t right here.

He recalled a time when Verity, as a teenager, would deliberately cut herself with a razor blade--on her arms and thighs mostly, places where she could hide her self-inflicted wounds from prying adult eyes. Only Ross had known her pain and her secret. Could this be what Demelza was up to?

“Demelza, I need to drive to Redruth--the tractor needs a new air filter. Come with me?” Ross turned off the tap and took the bucket from her, trying to sound casual. 

Demelza eyed him suspiciously, but whether or not she sensed ulterior motives, she didn’t let on. After grabbing her mobile from her room, she raced between raindrops to join him in the cab of the truck.

When they were alone, before he switched on the ignition, he turned to her.

“Demelza,” he said. “Show me your arms. Roll up your sleeves.” The firmness in his tone did not eclipse the concern that was also there. Rain beat on the roof and the bonnet of the truck filling the silence.

She must have known her secret had been found out and did as she was told without looking up. 

Her right forearm had a bruise in the telltale shape of fingers. Someone strong had grabbed her--and had held her. It had been weeks since she’d seen her father and even then it had been a brief visit, so this couldn't be Tom Carne’s doing. 

“Demelza, what in god’s name? Who…” Ross’s voice was low between a whisper and a growl.

“Nobody. I mean nobody that matters--no one you know. Just a guy from school.” It had been her mate Gemma’s brother in fact. It didn’t seem relevant to mention that friendship was now in peril as a result of this regrettable encounter.

“Demelza?”

“I made him mad. He wasn't happy I wouldn't...well…”

“What?” Ross asked.

She gave a quick shake of her head in disbelief and looked at him with narrowed eyes. Was he really going to make her say it?

“You know…” she said.

“You wouldn't have _sex_ with him?” he said incredulously. That simply _couldn’t_ be what she meant.

“Not full-on sex,” she mumbled. “Just for him...he wanted me to…”

“But you didn’t want to?” As uncomfortable as he’d grown, Ross knew to be careful, to coax the whole story out of her.

“Yes.”

“And did he force you to anyway?”

“No.”

“But still he grabbed you hard enough to leave a mark?”

“Yeah well, I may not have left a bruise on him but based on his screamin’ and moanin’ I’m pretty sure my knee hit the bullseye, if you know what I mean...” she said.

“So you fought back?”

“Course!”

Ross realised he'd still been holding her arm; gently he let it go and started the engine. The wipers squeaked, reminding him of all the broken things in his life he still hadn’t replaced.

“That’s pretty,” he said pointing to the pink and yellow weaving tied around her wrist. He thought it might be wise to change the subject if only for a few minutes. He had a lot to think about--suddenly his responsibilities towards this girl had just multiplied and he was terrified he’d soon be out of his depths. 

“It’s meant to be a friendship bracelet,” she said, fingering it lovingly, “Jinny Martin, a girl from school, made it for me. I probably shouldn’t wear it when tendin’ pig slop though.” 

The bracelet--small and simple--seemed to have some special value to her. Ross liked when she looked and acted like a bright teen not wiser old woman.

“Jinny Martin? I know her father,” he said.

“She’s older, Jim’s form--I mostly know her from the bus. Nice but...well I think she’s easily swayed by boys. It makes me sorta sad--like she doesn't have any opinions of her own.”

“Demelza...in school...what do they teach you about...about _relationships_?” he asked haltingly. It was poorly phrased--he didn't dare say the word ‘sex’. Still she knew what he meant.

“Oh yeah, they teach us about ‘healthy’ relationships--bein’ responsible, usin’ protection, gettin’ checked for infections…”

“Do they ever talk about consent?” he asked.

“Yeah but it’s mostly the girls who pay attention. I guess the stakes are higher for us,” she replied. “Mister Ross? I know I shouldn't have gotten in that guy’s car if I didn’t want to…”

“No, Demelza. You have a right to go anywhere and make any decision you want. You don’t owe a thing to anyone!”

As he drove on, Ross recalled his own clumsy teenaged self. Never would he force himself on someone but he had to admit, he’d often been inept at reading a girl’s pleasure. He shuddered at the thought of his over eager advances and the mediocre love making. 

At this pause in conversation, Demelza turned her attention to the truck’s stereo. She ejected the Nick Cave CD in the player, setting it aside with mild disdain, then switched on the radio, flipping through the settings rapid-fire until she came to a song she liked. It wasn’t one Ross knew but she raised the volume to hear it over the rain. 

 _“If I didn't have you, I'd never see the sun. You taught me how to be someone, yeah…”_ she sang with dramatic flare. Ross thought she had a nice voice.

“This is One Direction--do you like them, Mister Ross?” she asked.

“Can’t say that I do,” he answered truthfully. He knew if he played along now he’d get control of the music on the way back--that was their usual bargain.

Demelza looked out the wet window and continued her animated singing.

_“All my life, you stood by me_

_When no one else was ever behind me…_

_Nobody, nobody_

_Nobody can drag me down...”_

 

“See? It wasn’t that bad.” The song had ended and she was scrolling through her mobile laughing, looking for more songs she thought he should hear. “I know! I'll make you a playlist, Mister Ross!” 

Then all at once she went quiet, switching off the radio in great haste.

“Demelza…?” 

She seemed frozen with fear at something she saw on the pavement a few yards ahead. No, not something-- _someone_.

“Fucking hell,” she mumbled.

“Demel...is that... _him_? Is that who hurt you?” Ross asked. Her silence told him what he needed to know. He pulled the truck over at once, splashing through a puddle, and without turning off the ignition, he exited from the driver’s side.

“Mister Ross! No!” Demelza shrieked but he couldn’t hear her. He was already several paces up the road, rain soaking his shirt, blood pounding in his ears. 

No conscious thoughts were registering in his brain. An automatic physical response--a soldier’s response--had taken hold of him. His arm muscles had gone taut and a fire in his gut spurred him onward toward the lanky young man--a boy, really--who leaned against the wet stuccoed wall, apparently not bothered by the rain.

“You!” Ross’s voice was not his own. 

“Wha? You talkin’ to me, geezer?” The boy started to laugh then was shocked by the strong hand grabbing him by the collar. He was lifted an inch from the ground and found himself staring into the dark, raging eyes of this stranger.

“Forcing yourself on a girl...you could find yourself in trouble with the police, you know!” Ross sputtered and slammed the kid against the wall. A raindrop splashed on his eyelashes, spilling into his eye, but he was powerless to wipe it away. Once again he found both his hands were occupied at the moment.

“Mister Ross!” He heard Demelza’s shouts and turned to look. When he saw she was in the driver’s seat and had pulled the truck level with the scene, Ross let go of the boy’s wet shirt in surprise. 

“Get in the car! Now!” she ordered.

Dumbstruck, he obeyed and climbed into the passenger seat.

Without looking at Ross or at the cowering figure slumped against the wall, Demelza drove off and exited at the next roundabout. She had no idea where she was going but thought it best to put some distance between them and the boy. 

With each breath, Ross felt his senses returning. His first thought was awe that Demelza knew how to drive, but of course she did. He’d needed her to take the truck and the tractor around the farm from time to time--just never out on the road. Now she seemed to manage the gear lever and clutch easily.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mister Ross?” Demelza was concentrating on the smeary windscreen and the slick road ahead of her but managed to spit the words out. “You’re a man--and an _adult_ \--you can’t go beatin’ on teenagers. You’re the one who is gonna get arrested, you know!”

“Pull over here, Demelza,” he said calmly. He wasn’t going to fight her on this.

Reluctantly she pulled the truck over in the empty road but before she moved to open her door, she gripped the steering wheel and hissed through her teeth. As she got back into the passenger seat, she slammed the door to signal she was still furious. 

For the remainder of the trip to Redruth and back, they didn’t exchange a single word. It was the first time Ross had seen her so enraged and certainly the first time she’d been so silent with him. If he’d been more reflective he would have noted it was the first time she’d ever been that angry with him.

Back at Nampara, Ross gave her a wide berth for the rest of the afternoon. She went straight to the stables and he returned to the tractor shed alone. And when she didn’t come to dinner, the others thought it odd--Demelza usually had the biggest appetite of all of them--but no one suspected her absence was due to a sulky temper.

But as the sun began to sink in the blood orange sky to the west, Ross resolved to have a word with her. He’d been wrong to offer such violence to the boy--he saw that--and had she not intervened, Ross might have actually harmed him. Still, she needed to understand that he had a duty to look out for her. It had always been an unspoken agreement, from the first day they met. She might be bigger and stronger than she had been three years ago, but dangers still lurked. In fact, regrettably, now there were new ones.

“I think we should talk about some limits,” Ross said bluntly upon entering her room. 

“Limits?” she repeated. She lay on her stomach across her unmade bed but looked up at him towering over her.

“I mean, like a curfew,“ he continued, trying to sound authoritative. “If you’re living here I don’t want you out all hours.”

“All hours?”

“You’re my responsibility and if something happens to you…” 

“Are you having this same talk with Jim?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Demelza, he’s older than you and…”

“And a bloke? Is that it? Weren't you just tellin’ me today I have a right to go anywhere and make any decision I want? But now I can't leave the farm?” she pushed back. 

“You can leave the farm, let’s just keep an eye on where you go or who you...” 

“Who I go out with? So out with the girls to the cinema is okay but not with a boy?”

“To the cinema is fine…” Ross shook his head in frustration. He’d never argued with a teenager before--at least not since he was one.

“Maybe I should go back home. At least my dad don't care wha…” she muttered.

“Doesn't care what happens to you? No, hurting you is his purview alone!”

“Mister Ross,” she said and was silent again.

“I know. That was...I shouldn’t have said that but…” he stammered.

“Just because it's true don’t make it less hurtful,” she said softly.

Suddenly he saw he’d been reading her wrong. No longer enraged, now she was sad. And the mood would continue to unravel fast if she wasn’t offered some sort of redirection, some warmth.

“I’m sorry Demelza,” he said and sat down on the edge of the bed uninvited. “I just want to find a way to help you and keep you safe. I don’t mean to be overprotective or unfair…”

“Listen, Mister Ross, if it’s boys you're worried about, I can promise you this. I’ll stay away from all the boys in Cornwall until I’m…” She was accepting his olive branch.

“Thirty?” he offered.

“And I’ll text you if I’m out late and _always_ ring you directly if I’m in trouble.” She laughed and he smiled in return, happy to see the light return to her eyes.

He didn’t know what sort of skirmish they’d just had, but he sensed he’d been wise to retreat. And he wasn’t sure what this battle had meant exactly, but the outcome was clear to him. 

She’d won.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I work on this fic I get to research hops farming so then when I finish an update, as a reward, I get to drink a hopsy beer. Here’s some more on how to grow hops if you want to check my sources:
> 
> https://www.rogue.com/stories/farms/how-to-train-hops  
> https://www.starkbros.com/growing-guide/article/all-about-hops
> 
> Also not gonna lie--my music taste is a bit more in line with Ross’s than young Demelza’s. Drag Me Down lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management. True fans will find anachronism in the month the song was released in 2015. Here’s a link to those One Direction lads in case you need to be hit over the head of why Demelza would find them so meaningful.
> 
> https://genius.com/One-direction-drag-me-down-lyrics


	12. Proximal Comforts

July 2015

“Jim! Stop! Turn around and go forward again-- you aren’t even watchin’…” Demelza’s worried voice called out.

Ross arrived on the scene just in time to see Jim cavalierly maneuvering the tractor into its shed. He was in reverse, trying to back the thing in and Demelza was right--he wasn’t looking behind him. The tractor was moving at a sharp angle and if Jim didn't correct soon, he’d take out the flimsy partition between the machine bay and the storage room next to it.

“Jim!” Ross’s command boomed and startled the boy. But instead of stopping and straightening out, Jim pressed the accelerator and lurched on--backwards. Only then did he jerk to a halt but not before a piercing howl rose from the depths of the shed.

“What the devil…” Ross began, the hairs standing up on his neck.

“No! Oh no!” Demelza called and ran to investigate. But she was too late. The cat had already torn forward, through the yard and past them all. And even though the creature had been racing at full speed in the most heightened sense of animal panic, they all saw the bloody gash that extended the length of her side.

Demelza ran after but lost track within seconds.

“Mister Ross! What do we do? She needs our help!” she cried.

“And most likely it won’t accept it. Animals sense when they are mortally wounded--you should know that, Demelza. It has no doubt gone off somewhere to die alone,” Ross said.

“Die? Mister Ross! We can’t let her! Jim! Help me!” Now the girl was in a panic herself. She seemed to have instantly forgotten it was Jim who was responsible for the cat’s injuries, and in her desperation was begging him for help.

“Oh Dee! Fuck! C’mon, let’s go. Maybe it’s not too late and it isn’t that bad…” Eager to make amends, Jim quickly scurried past Ross to go with Demelza. The boy had taken one look at Ross’s face--white with fury and disgust--and was smart enough to stay away from him for the time being.

Hours later, when Ross entered the kitchen, he found Prudie sitting at the table trying to comfort the distraught girl. Demelza had her head buried in her arms and based on the strange muffled noises coming from her, Ross surmised she was crying.

“What’s this?” Ross said.

Prudie shot him a quick glance then patted Demelza’s back.

“Girl found the cat--dead in the hayloft. She just buried it,” Prudie said to Ross in a tone that may have been hushed in volume but not filtered for any sharpness.

“So all the distractions of the day are finally over and we can forget that we lost hours of work?” Ross quipped.

“‘Scuse me, Captain?” Prudie was on her feet.  

“We should be thankful it wasn’t Demelza that got crushed,” Ross muttered. He was tired of having the same conversations over and over about equipment safety on the farm. Actually he didn’t have to remind Demelza--she was always attentive and responsible, but Jim continued to make careless mistakes.

Demelza stood, puffy faced and bleary eyed, and saying nothing, slunk out the back door.

“You don’t need to be so black hearted, Captain Ross!” Prudie hissed and slammed a plate of what appeared to be an uninspired supper in front of him.

“I’m quite capable of chastising myself, Prudie, I don't need your help,” he said sourly. If Demelza’s distress meant the girl wouldn’t be helping with the cooking in the near future, then perhaps this whole unfortunate incident was suddenly taking on more gravity.

“Maybe you do, Captain,” Prudie said, not letting this go. Arms crossed, foot tapping, she was in a lather and eager to lash out. “Look around you for once. All the pain in that girl’s life but how often does she do that--break down and actually cry? Not just a few tears but a proper sob?!”

_Only once before._

“You're right. I’ll go to her,” he said solemnly and pushed his plate away.

“Well, no use doin’ that. Jim’s comfortin’ her now,” Prudie snorted and finally left him alone.

_That’s more appropriate,_ Ross thought. _She should talk to someone her own age._ Jim was almost two years older than Demelza--of course he was nowhere near as mature as she was--but he was at least more of a peer than Ross was. 

_I’m not her friend. What am I?_

Ross rose and peeked out the kitchen window. Across the yard by the open barn door, Demelza stood, resting her head on Jim’s shoulder. 

_How curious that she’s so quick to forgive Jim,_ Ross wondered.

Ross thought for a moment about the interactions he’d witnessed between Demelza and Jim lately. Would that be considered flirting? If so, neither was very adept at it. She often smiled and was friendly to most folks, but recently was she more so to Jim? She certainly was patient with him. And Jim had taken to following her around, chatting with her while she worked--while he was supposed to be working--laughing at her jokes, looking at her long legs in her short shorts. 

Yes, the way Jim was holding her now was more than an embrace between friends, Ross could see it. Jim’s head was bent close to hers and his hands were low on her back, meandering down past her waistline.

_How long has this been going on under my own roof? And more importantly--is this really any of my business?_

Over the next few days Ross vowed to be more observant and indeed saw growing evidence of a connection between his two teenaged employees. They seemed to always be laughing, but now it wasn’t just Jim laughing at Demelza; for some untold reason she found amusement in him as well. That was a change. When they weren’t working, the two seemed to be content to sit for hours, their shoulders pressed close as they showed each other pictures and videos from their mobiles. On Wednesday evening they took their suppers outside and ate together at the table in the yard leaving Ross and Prudie in the kitchen. 

If Ross were honest with himself, he would have admitted he was missing Demelza’s bright presence about the house, since her focus seemed elsewhere. The dinner he ate alone with Prudie was among the dullest he’d experienced in months. At the same time, Ross had always worried that Demelza kept too many of her troubles bottled up, so he was pleased she had a close companion and hoped she might begin to confide in Jim.

Still, Ross was caught off completely off guard that Friday evening. Exhausted, he’d stumbled up the stairs to his now-familiar room above the barn, eager to clean up and put the grime and frustrations of the day behind him. But when he stepped back into the hallway after his shower, he heard distinct and not particularly welcome sounds coming through the wall from Jim’s room--sounds of a rhythmically squeaking bed.

And just as quickly as it started, it ended. Ross stifled the laugh that swelled from his throat and tried to escape quietly without being overheard.

He was still in the hallway when he heard the low murmurs of Jim and Demelza’s voices, followed by another curious noise. He stopped to listen; it was more of an animalistic purr than an outright moan. Whatever was happening behind that door now was apparently pleasing to Demelza--and under her control.

Ross retreated to his room to dress but even there he was unable to escape the din of his neighbours in their intimate escapades.

“Whoa! Dee, I can’t believe you just did that, in front of me--that was so hot!” Jim’s astonished voice leaked through the thin walls.

Ross could contain his chuckle no longer and only hoped it wouldn’t be heard by Jim. The boy was just so damned predictable! Ross quickly put his boots on to go back out, and purposely--perhaps even cruelly--closed his door with a firm slam to let the others know he’d been there. 

\---

Once outside, Ross first stopped at his truck and fished out the packet of cigarettes hidden in the glove box. There were four left--his emergency stash. It was a habit he developed in the army but he really hadn’t smoked regularly since he returned to Cornwall. Only when he had problems to work out in his head, things that ran in circles and needed to be sorted--like now--would he break down.

Ross sat on an old tire away from the barn and downwind of the house, so no one would detect the smoke once he lit up. He took a deep inhale and laid all the facts before him.

Yes, he’d need to talk to them both. But he resolved to start with Demelza for he knew whatever he said to her, she’d listen.

From where Ross sat he couldn’t see the light turn on in the window that overlooked the front yard. Demelza had already returned to her room to do some thinking of her own.

 

\---

That Sunday afternoon Ross found Demelza alone in the stable with Adele. The girl hadn’t noticed him coming up behind her so when she turned to find him just feet from her, she jumped.

“Fucking hell! she cried, her arms in the air. “Oh it’s you, Mister Ross!” The horse in her nearby stall curled her upper lip and flicked her ears back and forth. She too did not appreciate Ross’s sudden appearance.

_Who was she expecting to creep up behind her?_

“Sorry to startle you. Thought you might be missing this,” he said, holding out the pink tea flask Prudie had given her for her sixteenth birthday. He’d discovered it sitting on the bonnet of his truck in the yard--abandoned by a distracted mind.

“Oh yeah,” she absently. “I was wonderin’ where I’d left that. And it’s still warm. Thanks, Mister Ross.”

“Demelza, I’m going out to check the fence at northeast meadow. I’ve had reports that the Bodrugan hounds have been coming around and I can only think that’s the most likely place of entry,” Ross began. “Ride out with me--on the horse, I mean. That is, if you don’t think it’s too much weight... I know you’re not the little girl you used to be.”

Without saying a word, she put down her untouched tea and began to saddle the horse.

But she looked at Ross curiously, as though she could tell he had other motives. Still she didn’t object. He knew she wouldn’t.

_Am I that transparent?_ _That predictable?_ he thought.

There really was no way to get comfortable when riding two on a horse--they were reminded of this minutes in. Ross hated that he had to rely more on the reins to communicate with Adele than through weight shifts or his own legs. From previous rides, he remembered how it was hard for the girl to give up control, which she had to do while riding behind him. He also worried that despite her determined grip, she might fall.

Demelza didn't complain but Ross heard small grunts and gasps as she wiggled in her seat. She was trying to subtly reposition herself while keeping her arms wrapped around Ross. He slowed Adele down to a walk which seemed to help.

“Do you want me to get down then you can ride alone?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine as long as Adele don’t think I’m squashin’ her kidneys. I sorta like it. Feels familiar, comfortin’ even--though it’s not really…” she laughed.

They continued on to the the far fence. The last time they’d ridden out there together on one horse was two years ago, in search of an errant young goat. Now little Marizpan was grown up, with kids of her own. 

_So much has happened in those years and so fast_.  Yet Ross also felt as though, for him alone, time dragged.

“So you think the Bodrugan hounds have been coming through here?” she asked. “Why do they?”

“Because they can--dogs like to wander. I just don’t want them getting into any trouble on our land that the neighbours will then hold us liable for…” Ross grumbled, annoyed that the same spot of fence had been compromised yet again.

_Must my life run run in circles?_

But examining this breach had only been a pretense for getting the girl alone. Ross had deliberately waited until they’d dismounted before he spoke, even though he knew it would be hard to look her in the face. And yet for such a conversation it was the right thing to do.

“So are you and Jim are now…” he began.

“Sleepin’ together?” she offered.

He was going to say ‘dating’ but at least was glad she didn't used the term ‘shagging.’

“It’s only been the once,” she added.

“And you’ve taken...precautions?” He tried his best not to sound judgmental but suspected he’d already failed on that score.

“Yes, I told you we learn about that in school,” she said.

“It’s not just _your_ responsibility,” he said after a minute.

“Oh I know. Jim was ready though. Tell me Mister Ross do all guys carry condoms ‘round with them at all times?”

Ross sheepishly thought of the condoms in the glove box of his own car. They’d been there a while, he’d need to check they hadn’t expired. The last time he used any was during a rather unsatisfying meeting in Truro with a woman named Margaret. At least they’d gone up to her flat and not had sex in the car. That would have made the already shameful scenario too sordid even for his taste.

_Good god, might Demelza have spotted the condoms in the car?_ He hoped not, then he had another flash of panic. _Had she seen the cigarettes?_

“No but maybe they should,” he answered her question.

“Mister Ross, can I ask you somethin’?”

He knew she was going to ask it regardless of his answer. 

“Is the first time... is it always so...so quick?”

He was expecting her to say uncomfortable--or worse--painful, so he laughed in great relief then saw she was asking him in earnestness.

“Are you disappointed?” he asked.

“No, not really. But does it gets better?”

“Yes, but it depends on the partner. Demelza, do you ask this many questions in school?”

_But you know, a thirst for knowledge isn’t a bad thing, Demelza_ \-- hadn’t he used those words with her in the past while walking this very meadow?

“No, I’m askin’ you, Mister Ross, because I know you’ll answer me.”  

“Are there not not some questions better asked of a woman?” he replied.

_But who else can she talk to, you fool? Certainly not Prudie._ The housekeeper remained fiercely overprotective. Ross suspected Prudie might take a page from Tom Carne’s book and wallop Demelza if she knew what the girl and Jim had been up to. She’d certainly give Jim a sound thrashing--if not worse.

“You mean a woman could give me advice ‘bout how to make it feel good--better, I mean? Isn’t that a man’s job too though? To make it feel good?” Demelza persisted.

“One would think.” Ross was surprised and perhaps admired her determined self-advocacy here.

“It’s just different than when...I mean, I know how to do _it_ when I’m alone,” she said matter of factly.  

Ross tried not to choke when he realised what she was referring to. 

“Is that somethin’ a bloke wouldn't want to see? Jim acted surprised when I finished things off myself.”

Ross had been caught off guard by the direction this conversation had taken--he’d meant to be detached, clinical, and it suddenly had grown rather intimately detailed. He felt a flicker of honour that she was trusting enough to speak so freely, so despite his unease, he felt compelled to answer her honestly all the same.

“No, I think you’ll find most men like to watch their partners pleasure themselves,” he managed to say.

“Really? Huh…”

“But you know condoms aren’t failsafe. If you are going to be sexually active you should think about further precautions,” he added.

“You mean pills?”

“Yes, along with condoms, of course. I can take you to the clinic if you’d like…” he offered.

“They’ll think you’re my dad,” she teased.

_No, they’ll think I’m your pimp or some old pervert taking advantage of you._

“You won’t tell my dad will you?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course not, but I suspect he wouldn’t be happy.”

“No, he already calls me a slag, has for years. But I’m lucky he doesn't think much about me at all, I suppose.”

“Do you like Jim?” Ross thought to ask.

“Well...Jim’s sweet to me and really sorta funny. I know you think he’s an idiot,” she laughed.

“I do not,” he protested.

“Yes you do.” She paused and thought some more on the question. “He really likes me. That feels nice--to be liked and appreciated.”

“Demelza, I’m sorry about the cat,” Ross said softly. “And I’m sorry that I didn't show more care--in the moment of your distress.”

“I’m sorry too. She was your cat, after all, Mister Ross,” she replied. “No one should have to suffer and no one should suffer alone.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers might recognize the line "Must my life run run in circles?" from Winston Graham's The Angry Tide.


	13. Melt With You

August 2015

“Demelza, you havin’ some?” 

Demelza’s eyes were closed. She was enjoying the gentle sway of the sea as the boat bobbed up and down in the quiet cove. The brilliant August sun hadn’t yet sunk below the horizon but no matter where she positioned herself, it seemed to shine directly into her eyes.

She looked up to the arm outstretched; Jinny Martin was offering her the bottle. Demelza liked wine more than any other drink she’d tried--and she’d not tried many--but somehow she felt it wasn’t quite proper to sip it straight from a shared bottle. Also on such a glorious warm night, she thought she might prefer a white wine to a red.

 _And when did you become such a drinks expert?_ she chided herself and took a gulp as penance for her moment of snobbery. If it was possible, the wine was both too sweet and too sour--not quite vinegar but almost.

“Thanks, Jinny,” Demelza said. She passed the bottle round, then gripped the gunwale and leaned back, trying to once again avert her eyes from the sun. It was no use.

“I can turn the motor on again then we could go farther out...” Charlie offered.

“No!” Demelza said quickly. “I mean, this is really nice and no one will bother us here,” she added in a more friendly tone. 

She had her reservations about Charlie piloting his father’s fishing boat to begin with. He’d been drinking and smoking weed all afternoon, and while his outer demeanor and speech didn’t seem to change no matter what he consumed, surely he must have lost some faculties by now. In the back of her mind she thought they’d better head back to land before the sun eventually set, since the boat wasn’t fitted with any lights nor did Charlie appear to even have a torch. But in the distance, on the sandy beach, she could see the bonfire the others had gotten going, and she knew that as long as they stayed where they were now, they’d be relatively safe. Even if the small boat capsized, she was pretty sure she could at least swim a straight line towards the shore.

Charlie Kempthorne was a local bloke, a friend of Jim’s, but not from school, and older than the rest of them. Demelza didn’t really know him and wasn’t sure she wanted to. There was something about his eyes she didn’t quite trust. Of course this evening those eyes were also pink and hidden behind sunglasses--but even his gestures seemed jerky, insincere. She just had an instinct about him.

Most of the time Demelza liked to hang out with the local kids she’d met through Jim. It wasn’t that she felt she belonged with them more than with her mates at school--on the contrary, she had very little in common with any of them, even Jim. But they were such a hodgepodge of characters, all thrown together due to physical proximity and not because of any real shared interests. And because they were all so different from one another, they seemed rather accepting--at least of her. Or maybe they were really just indifferent, shallow even, only focused on the here and now. Who could get a bottle of something, who could get a car--or a boat in tonight’s case--how could they have some fun.

None of those things mattered to her.

 _I’m not one of them. But I’m not really like the kids at school either,_ she’d thought. She didn’t fit anywhere. How could she? She couldn’t explain her world to anyone--what she knew, what she felt, what she’d seen. She’d never be able to find words for it and even if she did, no one would understand. No one.

She felt Jim’s hand on her back. First a half-hearted rub, then clumsily he crept under her jumper, under her t-shirt. She knew what he’d do next--artlessly snake around to finger her breast under her bra. He always went right for her nipple. It was never a caress. How it felt to her never crossed his mind, no matter how she tried to coach him.

She leaned forward and took the bottle from Jinny again and this time, held it in her lap after she had a drink. She wasn’t listening to what the others were talking about but smiled as the breeze tossed her hair away from her face.

The sun was lower now, a shimmering gilt spectacle spilling over the water. It dazzled Demelza’s eyes but this time she didn’t look away. She imagined diving into the liquid gold and coming out covered in precious scales, like a dragon or mythical bird.

It would have made a brilliant photograph but, wisely perhaps, she’d left her mobile on the dry beach. She’d just have to remember this, remember the way she felt looking at such a sunset. How was it such beauty had crept up on them tonight? Was it hers alone or could the others see it too?

She laughed aloud, not to her mates in the boat, but to the gulls, to the wind, to herself. 

 _I want to move,_ she thought, _I want to go somewhere in this boat or drive fast in a car or even fly. I want to go anywhere and leave this world behind. And yet how can it be I also just want to be right here--still--forever?_

First she passed the bottle back to Jinny then she slipped off her flip flops and pulled her jumper over her head. She didn’t see Jim looking at her, assuming her disrobing had been meant for him naturally. In one swift move, so as not to upset the boat, she hoisted herself up to the edge then crossed her arms and allowed herself to fall backwards, like a scuba diver.

The water was cold but not as cold as she’d expected. She surfaced and popped her head up to let the others know she was all right.

“Demelza! What are you doin’?” Jim called, half amazed and half annoyed.

“Swimmin’!” she called. How could she explain that she wanted to bathe in the sun’s last light as it melted into the sea, to follow the rays until they’d disappeared forever?

_What was that old song Prudie liked to sing? ‘I’ll stop the world and melt with you…’_

“Great idea, Demelza!” Jinny shrieked. Not minding the boat at all, she stood up, wobbling the whole time, and took off her top, then her bra. She turned to the boys and gave one more laugh before she plunged into the water. As she pushed off with her feet, the boat lurched and almost tipped entirely, sending Charlie and Jim to quickly shift their own weight to right the balance.

 _Did she take her top off because she wanted to or did she do it to be looked at?_ The thought flashed through Demelza’s mind as Jinny stripped. 

Even from five meters away, Demelza had noticed Jim’s eyes linger on Jinny’s bare body. Her breasts were brown from the sun--she must have done a fair bit of topless sunbathing--and rounder than Demelza’s.

_Am I supposed to be jealous that he looked at her like that? But I don’t I care--that’s between him and her really. I looked at her breasts too, didn’t I?_

“Whoo hoo!” Jinny cried and splashed over to Demelza. 

At first Demelza liked the company but soon regretted that the other girl’s shadow interrupted the dancing light on the water. She ducked under again and glided away like a seal, trying to put the others behind her. This time when she surfaced she was back in the path of the sunset.

Again, the satisfaction of just being there, alone in that moment, was almost enough to counter the constant drive she normally felt--a need to move, to seek, to go. Is this what it felt like to want nothing? Maybe she could just fade away, dissolve into the waves.

But after a few minutes the restlessness returned and she started taking longer strokes, this time towards the shore. 

“Help me back up, ya tossers!” Jinny’s laugh rang in the distance, presumably trying to get back in the boat. Demelza hadn’t meant to leave Jinny in her wake--or had she? Now as she swam steadily towards the beacon on the beach, the sound of the motor starting up was audible behind her. But it remained a light purr. If they were truly racing, Charlie could have easily overcome her. He must be holding back.

Demelza was closer to land now. Her next thought was that she was hungry; she hoped someone at the bonfire might have something to eat.

Finally she felt the rocks and sand underfoot and stood up. With slow purposeful strides she emerged from the sea, feeling triumphant--half mermaid, half Poseidon. Or maybe she was a powerful serpent. Splashes and shouting continued behind her as the others clambered off the boat, then struggled to pull it ashore. Still Demelza walked on, without looking back to them.

“You alright?” Paul Daniel put a hand to Demelza’s shoulder as she plopped herself down next to the fire. She tried not to shiver--she really didn’t feel cold--but under her dripping clothes her body was acting on its own.

“Never better,” she said with a laugh, and accepted the blanket Paul wrapped around her shoulders. 

 _A kind gesture,_ she thought. _Would I ever think to say that to someone else? Asking after others--that’s what mature people do, isn’t it?_ She must be stunted; she still only thought of herself.

“Dee, you’re mental, you know that?” Jim handed over the jumper she’d abandoned in the boat, then squeezed between her and Paul. His arm closed around her. 

Demelza had noticed Jim’s eyes moments before when Paul put his hand and the blanket on her. A flash of jealousy for sure but maybe he was even angry--or at least contemplating it? She hadn't cared when Jim ogled Jinny’s breasts, and at least Paul had only touched her arm. Didn’t Jim see his hypocrisy? Paul was showing care, which it never occurred to Jim to show.

 _Does Jim think I’m a possession?_ She’d read and heard about men who thought that way, but had never seen it play out in real life. Was it playing out now on her? Then again she’d had so little experience observing real relationships, even fewer healthy ones. At the thought that Jim might consider her a _belonging_ , she felt something move under her skin--and it wasn’t pleasant. Better to push it out of her mind. She knew how to do that. 

Better to think of just minutes before when she was floating in the sea. When she couldn’t decide if she was content beyond all measure or vibrating with the unquenchable longing to swim past the horizon and explore the world and all her desires.

Sparks spiraled upward from the blaze and were carried in the breeze like dancing fireflies. Demelza stared back at the fire’s center then closed her eyes. She knew what she wanted now--and it wasn’t this.

“Thanks, mate,” she said, and passed the blanket back to Paul, then grabbed the jumper and her rucksack and rose to her feet. Jim had already gotten his hands on a can of lager and would be easily consoled.

“Demelza! Where you goin’?” Jinny called, but Demelza only waved over her shoulder, and without turning around, continued her march up the sandy dunes. Jinny’s friendship bracelet, once bright but now dingy and sodden, irritated Demelza’s skin.

She hated to leave the brilliant sunset behind her but she wouldn’t look back.

\---

By the time Demelza made it to the back door of Nampara, she was no longer dripping but still more than just damp. Prudie would not be happy if she got the floor wet but Demelza thought it might be possible to grab something to eat quickly before returning to her room.

It was mid August--peak holiday time--so they had a family from France occupying the house for the week. But this time, the kitchen was to remain a common room. Ross felt the extra space might just be appreciated by the permanent Nampara residents and he’d been right. Not having to hide in their holes like scampering mice relieved some of the tension of having strangers amongst them.

“Demelza! What in god’s name…” Ross laughed as she slipped through the door, barefoot and wet.

“Oh Mister Ross, didn’t expect to see you here,” she said softly, then grabbed a tea towel and tried drying herself off just a bit. At this clumsy attempt, Ross’s deep chuckle grew louder. She was pleased he was amused and not cross at her impulsive swim.

“It was really brilliant tonight,” she smiled and started tiptoeing around the kitchen, her bare feet squeaking on the flagstone.

“But you’re home early?’ he questioned.

“Oh am I? I had my fun and then got tired...you know how it is,” she said breezily then looked up at him. “Are you alright? You look knackered.”

Although still weeks from harvest time, the hopyard remained demanding. At 20 feet, the bines were near their full height, and growing heavy on the extensive network of trellises. Earlier in the summer Ross’d been worried about too much rain, now he was worried about too little. It was tricky business--one wanted to keep the rows irrigated but the cones needed to dry out in order to be harvested. Recently Ross had talked about engaging some temporary labourers when Demelza and Jim returned to school.

“I am but I’m also famished. I was about to make myself a sandwich. Would you like one?” Ross asked but she had already gotten out the cheddar and was now slicing a tomato for him.

“You should really change, you’re soaked,” he observed.

“I will in a minute.”

He didn't accept her resistance and took one of his flannel work shirts that was hanging on a peg by the door, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Oh thanks,” she said, then sniffed the collar.  “Mister Ross, you been smokin’?”

“Never mind that. I don’t ask what you‘ve been up to, Demelza. Surely you can extend me the same courtesy,” he said.

“Well you already know I’ve been swimmin’,” she laughed.

“And that’s all?” He raised a brow.

“You shouldn’t have let Jim an’ me off this afternoon,” she said. “If there’s that much to be done.”

“I’ll have the extra help soon enough and you deserve to be teenagers every once and awhile,” he said. “As long as you enjoyed it…” he added with an inquisitive tone.

“I told you I did,” she replied simply and said no more until she put a plate with three sandwiches in the middle of the table. “I’ll be up at the usual time tomorrow to help though.” She sat down across from him then laughed lightly to herself before she grabbed one up and took a bite. 

“And Jim?” he asked, reading her thoughts.

“Can’t say what shape he’ll be in.”

“Then let’s be sure to wake him early,” Ross said with a wink.

  
  
  



	14. Trust & Betrayal

October 2015

“Captain Ross!” Prudie called out from the hallway. 

“Wha..?” Ross muttered sleepily. He’d been reading by the fire, but clearly must have dozed off some time ago. Though not even in his late twenties, Ross found by evening time he was as exhausted as a man in his middle years. It wasn’t the physical labour but the emotional burdens--loneliness, guilt, worry, sadness--that wore him down. But of late, he was also rather distracted, thrown off guard by troubling developments with Carnmore Brewery, ones that could very well threaten Ross’s livelihood by default.

Ross knew there had been some tension between Richard Tonkin and John Trevaunance for some months but hadn’t been privy to the cause. It was only recently that Tonkin had confided in him--Trevaunance had acquired some significant gambling debts and now, in order to liquidate his assets, wanted out of his half of the Carnmore partnership. Tonkin understood his partner’s dilemma and tried to be sympathetic but bristled when he learned Trevaunance had already lined up a would-be investor willing to take over his share in the brewery--George Warleggan.

“Can’t trust that man. I’d sooner partner with Sir Philip Green!” Tonkin sneered. For Tonkin, brewing had always been a labour of love, never about the business end but all about the creative magic. He wisely saw that Warleggan would put Carnmore in fetters. Pursuit of profit would be the new mandate, with no regard for innovation, taste, or craftsmanship--and certainly none for supporting locally sourced ingredients like Nampara hops. “We’ll be sold off to a bigger enterprise within a year, mark my words. I’ve seen it happen dozens of time whenever a craft brewery establishes a name for itself.”

“What will you do?” Ross had asked. He half feared Tonkin was about to ask him to invest in the venture. Ross would hate to have to let him down but with his own bleak financial situation, as much as he wished he could help, it simply wasn’t an option any time soon.

“I’m doing everything I can-- _everything-_ -to scrape together enough to buy John out myself. I’m nearly there, even if it’s risky,” Tonkin replied tugging his glossy beard in distress. “It was my wife’s idea to mortgage the house. She said she’d rather live in a van than see our brewery go to that capitalist poodle.” 

“You are fortunate, Richard, to have such an understanding woman,” Ross assured him. He knew this was a troubling time for Tonkin but also wondered what it would feel like to have that sort of unwavering, non-negotiable support in his life. Or to give it in return.

“Captain Ross!” Prudie repeated and this time peered into the parlour to make sure she’d been heard. “There’s a taxi in the yard what needs his fare paid!” 

Ross hadn’t heard the car pull up nor his housekeeper answer the knock at the door. Now she was clearing her throat and sighing loudly to signal her annoyance at having been roused.

“Twenty quid from Perranporth.”

“Who…?” he began to ask.

“The girl come back from the dance in a taxi.”

“Demelza?” He looked at his watch. It was just barely ten so if she’d come back, it was early. And without Jim. Something must be amiss.

A car horn sounded from outside.

“He’s waitin’,” Prudie said, tapping her bulgy slipper impatiently, anxious to get back to her room.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming,” Ross growled and rose to his feet. 

Years ago, when Demelza had first come to work for him, Ross had told her that if she ever found herself in a situation overtly dangerous or even just vaguely uncomfortable, any time of day or night, she could get a taxi to Nampara Farm and he’d pay the fare. And in three years she’d never taken him up on the offer before.  

This didn't sit well with him. He felt his arms tense and a regrettably familiar anger begin to boil in his belly.  

_If someone has hurt her again…_

“Where is she now?” Ross asked Prudie, after he returned from paying the driver. But before she answered, he looked out the open door and saw for himself. A light had come on across the yard in the room above the barn.

“Did she say anything?”

“No. She wouldn’t say a word. But Captain...we’ve so rarely seen her cry before, you know,” Prudie added. 

Yes, they could count that on one hand, couldn’t they? 

Prudie may have been moved by Demelza’s tears, but once she saw Ross was awake and able to sort it, she seemed to suspend her own concern. She turned and shuffled back down the hall to her room where the blue light of the telly beckoned.

Ross doubted Demelza would want to see him but he’d at least try. He wouldn't be satisfied unless he made sure she was all right and he had more information about just what had happened to upset her in the first place. 

She’d been so looking forward to this dance for weeks and had gone to great lengths to seek out the right dress, the right hairstyle, the right makeup. It was the first time, as far as Ross knew, that she’d ever really dressed up.

She’d almost not gone at all, even after she and Jim had made elaborate plans to go together. She had a special dress picked out from a shop in Perranporth that she’d been putting money away towards. But then her father sprang a bill on Demelza for her younger brothers’ uniforms and school dinners, knowing she’d of course pay it herself rather than see them go hungry or ill clothed, and that had almost wiped out her savings. Tom Carne largely let his daughter live her own life and stay on at Nampara without interfering. He had one less mouth to feed that way though he did on occasion seem to miss having her labour at his disposal. So every now and then he’d come crashing back into her life, just to upset her plans and any sense of stability she’d managed to create for herself. This was one of those times.

“Well, that's it then. I won’t be goin’,” Demelza had declared one day. “I’ll have to find a way to let Jim know. He’ll be jumpin’ since he’s already paid for his suit.”

“We could find you another dress, borrow one from someone we know maybe?” Prudie offered.

“No, Prudie,” Demelza said gently, appreciative of the suggestion but still feeling hopeless. “Not that I wouldn’t be grateful for such a favour but this was supposed to be special. I'd just be reminded of what I almost had and why I lost it--I’m not sure I could bear it. I think I’m better off givin’ it all up. What was I thinkin’?” She went back out to the stable to shovel manure.

Demelza’s disappointment must have tugged at the housekeeper’s heart strings, for Prudie was near tears herself when she told Ross the story later.

“He’s back at it again, Captain Ross. Tom Carne, the worthless tuss is stealin’ her money and schemin’ to get her home again. For what purpose, I can only imagine!”

“I had thought those days were behind us,” Ross said. “I pay her directly and she keeps her account at Lloyds in Redruth so he can’t steal her wages for drink.” 

 _How is Tom Carne managing this? Why can’t he just leave her and her dreams alone?_ It was starting to feel much like the girl’s trip to Spain years before that her father had tried to thwart. But this time Ross wouldn’t hesitate to step in. He was more and more willing to take on Tom Carne or anyone who upset Demelza. He’d had enough.  

Ross sensed Demelza’s despair was not really about _that_ dress but about wanting to feel as though she had some control over her life. He remembered that feeling from his younger days. He still wished for it, in fact. 

When Ross brought home the dress later that week it was only Demelza who was surprised.

“Demelza, this is from Prudie and me,” he said, laying it in her hands. It was partially true, although Prudie had contributed very little. “It’s a gift--you needn’t pay us back. We knew you were looking forward to the dance and we know how you had been working hard to buy this dress.”

“Mister Ross! I can’t...what made you...oh...thank you!” she said, and flew into his arms to give him a hug, then pulled back when she realised she was crushing the dress between them. “It’s just so lovely!” she gasped and held it up to her. Her wide eyes were shining and her mouth, which had been gaping open in amazement, transformed into a charming smile.

It was a simple design--fitted, black, strapless, knee length to show off her long legs. Ross had a hard time believing the woman in the shop who assured him that indeed _that one_ had been Demelza’s choice. He had expected she’d want something fancier and fussier and found himself impressed by her taste. There was no arguing--the dress was elegant...and adult. 

The Saturday of the dance Demelza had finished her chores early to allow ample time to get ready. Even Prudie had to acknowledge the results were impressive and didn't give her a hard time about her exposed shoulders or plunging neckline. Demelza looked sophisticated but also so happy. When she left later that evening with Jim Carter, whose idea of dressing up included a slick skinny suit and no end of hair gel, Ross thought it didn't look as though the two were going to the same event. Demelza seemed to belong to another world--not with Jim.  

Apparently Ross had been right.

Now in the quiet of the night, Ross knocked softly on her door. As he expected, there was no answer.

“Demelza?” he called out. His voice was gentle.

“You can come in,” she said. She sounded tired.

He entered tentatively, Garrick at his side. The dog bounded towards his mistress on the bed and insistently nosed at her hand; her unusually manicured fingers scratched absently at his dark, shaggy head. The room was largely in shadow for only the small lamp on the bedside table had been switched on. She’d kicked off the black heels--he suspected in fury--as they were now on opposite sides of the room.  

Watching her practice walking in the shoes had been humorous for them all. And it had been Demelza herself who’d laughed hardest, as she threw her arms out to try to steady her slender body while she wobbled. She’d usually only make it a few strides before she’d erupt in a storm of curses and giggles.  

“How do ladies do this everyday? And bloody hell, these shoes hurt!” Around the farm, she mostly wore flip flops and wellies so her feet were not used to being so constrained. But like most things Demelza set her mind to, she learned fast. Once she determined how to bounce at the knee and use her inner thigh muscles for balance, she got the hang of the shoes and began to strut around the kitchen as though on a runway.

“You’ll be taller than Jim if you wear those, you know,” Prudie had reminded her.

“Well he’ll just have to bear it, won’t he?” Demelza had said with a smile--nothing was going to deflate her joy.

It was one of those moments when Ross realised just how much she’d grown. She had been such a little thing when he first met her, a strong breeze could have lifted her away. Now, even though she was still slight in her frame, she stood tall almost five seven. And in the heels she was almost as tall as he was. Ross felt an odd sort of pride at this, as though he played some part in her thriving health.

But tonight, she seemed small again, as she sat on the bed. She still didn’t turn to face him as she took out her earrings and started to unpin her hair. The graceful updo she’d been so happy with came down and her long neck and exposed shoulders were once again hidden behind the curtain of strawberry blonde curls. Piece by piece, the elegant appearance was dismantled and the girl resumed her old familiar form.

“Demelza?” Ross said again.

She said nothing but stopped what she was doing and let out a long exhale.

“Thank you for takin’ care of the taxi. I’ll pay you back, you know.”

“No need. We made that bargain long ago. Can you tell me what happened? Did...did someone hurt you?”

She turned and looked at him and he saw a look in her eyes he recognised from a wet evening three years earlier--fear, contempt, anguish.

“Yes, Mister Ross. _Someone_ hurt me but not in a way that you can right with your fists, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. And this can’t be fixed by anyone, not even you.”

He saw now that he had misread her yet again. It wasn't anger---it was crushing embarrassment and hurt that was apparent on her weary face. The waterproof mascara she’d applied earlier had held up so, despite the tears, her makeup was largely intact.

“Demelza?” he tried again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” He sat down on the corner of the bed opposite her.

“Oh, Mister Ross, I just can’t believe he’d do that to me. Not tonight!” she began.

“Jim?”

“Yes, he was _snoggin’_ Jinny Martin at the dance. And seriously, maybe they were doin’ more than that, knowin’ his busy hands and his... “ she stopped and for once censored herself before she got too graphic about Jim’s teenage sex drive. “They weren’t even tryin’ to hide it. Why couldn’t he just be honest with me?”

“Jim’s an idiot,” Ross said and realised this was not much of a comfort. How did one console a young girl whose heart was broken for the first time?

“And so you came straight home?” he asked.

“The other girls were actin’ strange with me all night…”

“No doubt they were jealous,” he said. She waved that away in disbelief.

“I thought about findin’ another boy and... well, gettin’ revenge that way but it wasn't what I wanted.”

What would he have done? Something self destructive no doubt. At least she’d shown more sense.

“This whole dance...what a waste of time and money and effort! It was all dreams, Mister Ross. Dressin’ up and pretendin’ to be somethin’ we’re not. I thought if I could do it for one day, just one day, it would make me happy. But it left me feelin’ empty. Just to be looked at and admired?  What’s the point of that? I want to live my _real_ life, and feed the baby goats with their bottles, crush the ripe hops ‘tween my fingers, and feel the soft grass on my bare feet. I don't want to fuss with my hair or wear these ridiculous shoes...or any of that. Ever. I’m sorry I wasted your money...” she said solemnly.

“It wasn't a waste. You deserved the experience even if, in the end, it wasn't what you wanted, Demelza. Sometimes the things that drive us are not in themselves satisfying,” he said.

“Things are never as good in reality as in yer dreams,” she said, “so I suppose it’s probably best to stop dreamin’.”

“Whether that has been the case for me or not, I’m not sure. But I will say _you_ are far too young to be that jaded and I’d rather you didn't give up on your dreams, quite yet, Demelza.” He tried to sound encouraging but was afraid it came out stern, didactic. 

“You know somethin’ funny? I don’t even care about losin’ Jim to Jinny. I mean we had fun together but I didn’t love him. And if he doesn't like me, then I don't want him. I just wish he had the decency to think about my time and my feelin’s. Tonight I mean.”

“You are a smart girl to possess such a sense of self worth. And you are right, Jim was a twat. Sadly many boys are like that. I know I was…” 

“You?” she asked in disbelief. “And when did you learn to take someone else's heart into account? Do you have to be a grown man to understand it’s important to think about other people? ‘Cause if so, I’m done with boys until I’m thirty! And this time I mean it.” 

With this last oath, the vibrant girl Ross knew was back. She seemed to have worked through her anger, and any tears were now gone. He had always been amazed at how resilient she was--of course she’d learned the necessity of that at a young age.

“Are you hungry? I can ask Prudie to fix you something to eat?”

“No you couldn't. She’s passed out in front of Teleshopping by now,” she laughed. “But can you help me with this zipper? I can't quite reach it.” She had fumbled over her shoulder trying to reach the fastening on the back of the dress. She rose and stood before him and he reached up gave it a gentle tug about six inches until the zipper was within her grasp. Then he rose and gave her a quick kiss on the head and a pat on her bare shoulder. It was brotherly or maybe fatherly, but certainly not at all sensual.

“Good night, Demelza. And don't think for one minute I’m going to allow you to pay for that taxi. I should take it out of Jim’s wages instead.”

“Good night, Mister Ross,” she said with a sincere smile.

\---

Ross returned to the silent house, and after he poured a whisky, thought about what had just happened. It was still his nightly ritual to end by the fire and he expected to fall asleep in his chair and awaken hours later, stiff and sore in the cold room after the flames had gone out. 

Demelza was such a funny girl and the way she’d moved through her emotions at lightning speed that evening was fascinating to him. Although he was a fierce and sometimes arrogant man, hers was the stronger nature because the more pliant. She seemed incapable of feeling sorry for herself.

_I could learn a thing or two from her._

Ross was not looking forward to seeing Jim again on Monday but certainly Demelza would give the boy a piece of her mind first. She wasn't one for holding back. He’d have to make adjustments to Jim’s work schedule, perhaps deploy him further in the fields so he and Demelza didn’t have to meet much. He’d also have to give him clear instructions that if he were to continue living in the servants quarters above the north barn he was not permitted to bring other girls home, ever.

Ross sighed and was startled by the sound of his own breath in the otherwise quiet room. He realised he was feeling a sort of satisfaction that Demelza had learned to trust him over the years and that once again, she confided in him about her thoughts and emotions. Long ago he saw she needed a friend and he was pleased to be still be one to her since she’d grown. But he felt saddened too--for her--that she'd been reminded the hard way there were others in the world who were not to be trusted.

Ross sat for a minute in quiet contemplation then, leaving his filled glass untouched, mounted the stairs and went to bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Although he was a fierce and sometimes arrogant man, hers was the stronger nature because the more pliant," are of course Winston Graham's words from the third Poldark novel, Jeremy. I borrow them here with love and respect for his characters.


	15. Stalled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next four chapters all take place over a single night--slowing our slow burn down even further. But at least it's Christmas so that comes with mandatory tropes!

**Christmas 2015**

**Part I: 12PM-3:30 PM**

“Demelza! Demelza, where are ya, girl?” Prudie called impatiently throughout the house before stomping into the kitchen and gathering up items at a furious speed.

“What’s all the fuss?” Ross was curious why Prudie was so tense on her soon-to-be day off. He picked up an apple and took a bite more from boredom than hunger. 

“Lookin’ for the girl, if she’s still wantin’ to get a ride home...back to Illogan, that is,” Prudie corrected herself. Of course Nampara--not #22 Wesley Road--was Demelza’s home and had been for the last year and a half.

Prudie still wasn't happy about Demelza’s plan to spend a few days with the Carnes for Christmas. She’d poked gently to see if she could get Demelza to be more open about her feelings, and seemed almost disappointed when the girl kept up a flat, almost icy, front. 

Returning to Illogan for the holidays was nothing more than a duty she mustn't shirk--there simply was no way around it, so Demelza wouldn't waste time nor energy lamenting it. She’d also expressed concern that her brothers might miss her if she didn't show, so it was clear she was not fulfilling this obligation for Tom Carne, but for them.

“Demelza’s up in her room. I thought you weren't leaving for your cousin’s until 3?” Ross was mildly amused at Prudie’s hurried state. She normally shuffled about leisurely, taking her own sweet time, so this was a notable change.

“Altered plans. My cousin needs help with the turkey and asked me to come early to lend my cookin’ expertise,” Prudie replied proudly.

Ross hoped his face hadn't betrayed the inner smirk he was feeling--‘cooking expertise’ was not a term often associated with the woman. He then quickly chastised himself for his less-than-generous appraisal of her skills. Who was he to talk and exactly what would he be fashioning for his own Christmas Eve dinner with neither Prudie nor Demelza to assist him that night?

“Well Happy Christmas then, Prudie, if I don't see you before you leave…” he began but she’d already flown out the door, her arms laden with the Nampara roasting pan and what looked to be a turkey baster. He shook his head, unaware that they even had one of those.

 _This house has lots of secrets, many yet to be revealed to me,_ Ross thought as he returned to the library. 

Ross was not at all dreading spending the holiday by himself--he preferred it that way, especially after months of Airbnb guests taking over his home. There had been a family booked for the Christmas holidays but they’d cancelled last minute to his great relief. For once, Ross didn't regret the loss of income since it meant he wouldn't be confined to his grim room above the barn in his solitude. Besides, it was only for the one night that he’d be completely alone.

For Christmas Day, Ross had been invited to Trenwith and while he’d accepted the invitation, he still wasn’t fully committed to going. He’d need to see how he felt about it tomorrow. 

Last year’s Christmas with the other Poldarks had been pleasant enough--well, at least it wasn’t unpleasant, just tedious. Aunt Agatha’s hearing was worse than ever, so any conversation had to be shouted. Charles and Elizabeth remained so immersed in the uninteresting world of their baby son and related the details of his latest developments as though it was the most gripping news of international importance. Now the child was a year and a half which meant he was still incoherent but mobile--everyone would have to hold tight to their wine glasses whilst he launched his wadling body to and fro, as graceless and as destructive as a battering ram at the castle gate.

Elizabeth had been a little less on edge with Ross in recent months. She wasn’t quite as desperate to capture and monopolise his attention as she had been in the past nor did she act wounded when he held it back. Perhaps she genuinely had been changed by the love she had for her son--or maybe she was simply too tired after minding her child all day to have much fuss left for Ross. But however motherhood had changed her, she still looked lovely and hadn’t lost any of her youthful bloom. And it was still unpleasant--although slightly less painful--for Ross to see her radiant beauty and know she was bound to someone else.  And someone so much older than she.

The only reason Ross felt compelled to go to Trenwith at all was for Verity. She’d be there and had announced that this year she was “bringing a friend” to Christmas dinner.  Ross knew that meant Andrea, but wasn't sure just how much Verity was ready to reveal to Uncle Charles. Andrea apparently was growing impatient with the current secretive arrangement and had been urging Verity to come clean with her family. There was nothing shameful to hide, after all. 

But Ross knew this was easier said than done. Uncle Charles could be savagely cruel at times. He was quick to insult and would bellow like a boor when he felt wronged or mistreated, so Verity had cause to feel timid around him. Time and again, Charles Poldark had shown he didn't really care that much about Verity and certainly less about her actual happiness. Ross suspected his uncle would only consider what his daughter's attachment to a woman might mean to his own reputation. And yet perhaps was it possible they all just overestimating the man’s spiteful wrath? Maybe his new family had mellowed him?

The Nampara library was quiet except for the crackling of the fire and some distant muttering from the yard. Ross strained to listen, but he could not quite make out what Prudie was upset about now. A single car door slammed, followed by the sound of tires on gravel, then the Mondeo drove away.

Yes, he was alone.

He moved to the chair by the fire. In truth it was not really any more comfortable than the swivel chair at the desk. With its vaguely grey and puke-green velour upholstery ripped in more than one spot, it was clearly destined for the rubbish heap at some point soon. Yet Ross had been unable to part with it--it had been his father’s. Perhaps even where Joshua had died.

Ross must have dozed, for he was suddenly awakened by the slamming of wind on the house--window panes rattled, the walls themselves seemed to shudder. The tinkle of Demelza’s laughter followed by an enthusiastic bark from Garrick could be heard coming from the kitchen. He looked at his watch--he must have been asleep for close to an hour. So she hadn’t left with Prudie. But why? He rose to his feet.

“Oh Mister Ross! Hope we didn't wake you,” she said, glancing up at his droopy eyes. She never judged him for catching a nap when he could--she knew he worked hard most days throughout the year, even on weekends and holidays.

“You didn't. That’s some wind…”

“I know! Thought it might blow me an’ Garrick right out of the yard! It’s tossin’ all sorts of debris ‘round though. I’ll warm myself a bit then go see what needs clearin’ up,” she explained and switched on the kettle.

“No need. It's Christmas Eve, you’re not on duty, Demelza. I thought you were going to your father’s today?”

“Am. But didn't feel like leavin’ quite so soon so I thought I’d take the bus later.”  

“Bus?”

“Yes, there's still buses today. It’s tomorrow they aren't runnin’,” she replied.

“Nonsense. I’ll drive you. Just tell me when.”

“You sure, Mister Ross?” she asked. She didn't say anything more but he knew what she was asking. She was checking whether at 1 PM he was still sober enough to drive. It was a fair question and he never lied to her when he wasn’t.

“Yes, I’m sure, Demelza.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Are you hungry at all? I was just about to fix myself some lunch.”

“Let me do it!” she chirped. He was about to object then thought better of it. Whatever she might conjure up from the pantries would no doubt be tastier than his best attempts, and he also suspected--rightfully so--that she was stalling.

Just then another great gust of wind shook the house.The lights flickered for a moment before they buzzed back on as though nothing had happened. Minutes later they heard the sound of rain hitting the roof.

“Demelza, you stay here. I’m going to make sure the stables and barn are secure if we are to have a proper winter storm.”

“I can help,” she pleaded. “Unless you’re too hungry to wait,” she added.

He was quite hungry but that wasn't her fault. She ate meals at regular times like a normal well-adjusted human, whereas when he was alone, he seemed captive to the whims of his fickle appetite. If he was hungry he ate, and if he wasn’t he would go for long stretches, maybe even a day, without so much as a morsel. Of course most days, the girl kept his table well-laid at predictable meal times but today _was_ supposed to be her day off.

Ross could see she wanted to help with the stock--they were her great love and her primary responsibility. And if he were being honest with himself, he saw he could probably use her assistance.

Together they worked for about an hour, locking all the windows firmly, stacking up bales of hay for extra insulation where draughts might creep in, feeding and watering the stock so everyone was snug. The goats huddled together for warmth, the pigs and cows rested comfortably, oblivious to the rain hammering the roof tiles. Only Adele was restless in her stall. She did not like the wind and when she saw Demelza, snorted out her distress.

“There, there, my love,” Demelza cooed, petting the horse's forehead. “It’s only the wind. You’re a strong girl--can’t hurt you.” Adele pawed at the stable floor one last time, then turned to her trough, apparently soothed enough by Demelza’s tone.

At that moment Ross worried Demelza was perhaps talking more to herself than to the horse. Was she steeling herself for Tom Carne’s bluster--or worse--his blows? Ross knew he should once again extend the offer to return to Nampara via taxi should she find herself in any danger. He just hated to so openly discuss the harm that might be waiting for her in her father’s home. To remind her, to remind himself, was upsetting. Most days--for months now--they pretended her father just didn't exist.

“I wish it would snow, Mister Ross. Don’t you?” she said breaking the silence.

“Not really,” he laughed. “But I suppose it would look nice.”

“Yes, I know it’s extra work to grit the roads and shovel the paths but I mean... for Christmas. Rain and mud--not really pretty and cosy in the same way.”

 _Since when did she care so much about how things looked around her? For the last few years, actually, if you'd been paying attention,_ he chided himself.

“Come back in the kitchen, out of the wind. Let's eat lunch then I’ll get you home before the rain gets worse--or turns to sleet.”

\----

Lunch was simple but fragrant and flavourful, as Ross had come to expect from the girl's cooking. She’d found some leftover roasted potatoes to warm in the oven and fried up some freshly cured bacon to go with them. She also heated a tin of tomato soup and added some fresh rosemary from the pot she’d been growing on the kitchen window sill. 

She set a place for Ross then turned to attend to the dishes.

“Demelza? Come join me, won’t you?” he asked her and beckoned her to the empty chair across.

She smiled warmly and moved to sit, traversing the kitchen in her usual half skip, half dance.

“I can make toast if you want anythin’ else…”

“This is perfect,” he said. “This bacon is exceptional. It isn’t from…”

“From one of ours? No, Mister Ross. Prudie an’ me just got this from Trembath yesterday,” she smiled. They’d come a long way since she first admonished him for sending her favourite piglet off to slaughter years before.

“You know Mister Trembath told us he might be sellin’ later this year? He doesn't think he can compete with the bigger chains. Folks are willin’ to drive the extra minutes to Newquay for Sainsbury or ASDA.” She sighed. “I always thought Trembath was doin’ steady business!”

Ross thought she sounded like one of the gossiping village ladies when she spoke of her dealings with the butcher. She could do that--switch from playful schoolgirl to wise old woman in just a flash. 

“It’s all about how a business presents itself--easy to be deceived,” he replied.

“Are you...are you doin’ alright, Mister Ross? Or is that wrong to have asked? It's just…”

“As my employee, your fate is wrapped up in mine, Demelza, so it seems a fair question. I'm better off than I was two years ago. But I still have a way to go before I can sleep easy at night. My father left so many debts…” 

“Oh sorry to hear that,” she said softly. “When’s the house booked next?”

“I like your way of thinking,” he laughed and shook his head. “There’s a problem and your mind just goes right to the solution. Since you ask, it’s booked for New Years so I have a few days to myself.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to come back here from Illogan by then to help you,” she said scraping her spoon in her bowl for one last mouthful of soup. She slurped it inelegantly, then asked, “What are your plans for the hops this spring?”

He laughed again. Another fair question. He was hoping that he might persuade Tressida, another hops farmer in Cornwall, to partner with him. If they united--maybe even recruited others--and sold their yield together, they'd have a better bargaining position with the bigger breweries. He had to look forward. Up to now, Ross had always gotten a fair deal with Carnmore but since the Tonkin and Trevaunance partnership remained shaky, his future with them looked less certain.

“Let me help you with the dishes,” Ross offered, reluctantly pushing away from the table. It had been a pleasant lunch but had driven home the reality that his next few meals would pale in comparison.

Just then the lights flickered again, then went out entirely.

“I’ll get a torch,” Demelza said. 

“No, wait. Maybe they’ll come back on.” Ross held his breath but nothing happened. He rose and made his way through the rest of the house, Garrick at his heels, to suss out the scene. Sometimes they’d get lucky in a winter storm and only lose power in one wing. No such luck today. The power was out everywhere. 

It was still only afternoon but this time of year the rooms were dim without any lights. The scarce daylight would be gone in about an hour and the heating at Nampara was electric.  As the sun set, the house would only get darker and colder.  

“I’ve a generator in the storage shed,” Ross shouted to Demelza. “Can you build a fire in the parlour? Maybe make one in the kitchen hearth too?”

“Will do!” she called cheerfully.

_She now has another reason to stall her return home._

\---

“This isn’t looking good,” Ross grumbled as the generator started up with a roar. Immediately it was loud and smelly, filling the hallway with noxious fumes. 

“What’s wrong? It sounds like it’s workin’...”

“For now, but it runs on kerosene. And I’m afraid we didn't have much in the shed. Let’s just hope the power is restored sooner rather than later.”

Another hunk of rubbish his father couldn’t part with. He wanted to kick the stupid piece of machinery. 

“Should we save it then, for later when we’ll need it more?” she asked him. “I mean we’re okay for now. We can use torches, light candles when it gets darker…”

Ross was again touched by Demelza’s cheerful spirit and smiled weakly.

“Let’s get you home, Demelza.”

“Of course, Mister Ross,” she said flatly. “I’ll go get my bag.” 

No, she wouldn’t let him see she felt deflated, disappointed by the abruptness of his suggestion--he knew that. But it was for the best that she just get on with it. Especially now since there was nothing to keep her at Nampara.


	16. Stuck

**Christmas 2015**

**Part II: 3:30PM-8PM**

“Mister Ross! Are you alright? Oh no!” Demelza panted and unclicked her seatbelt to get a closer look at Ross slumped against the driver’s side window. 

“Yes, yes. Are you?” Ross put his hand to his forehead and didn't like what he found.

“Fucking hell! You’re bleedin’!” Demelza pulled a tissue from the pocket of her parka and very carefully pressed it to his head. The wound did not seem to be deep, just a scratch, but was steadily flowing nonetheless. Ross took the tissue from her and scowled.

“Don't be alarmed. Head wounds tend to bleed a fair bit,” he muttered.

“Why weren’t you wearin’ your seatbelt?” she asked.

“I was going to, once we were out on the main road. I thought I might still need to get out and push if we got stuck.”

The truck, now stalled, was at a 90 degree angle from the driveway, its back tires buried in a foot of half-frozen mud. Ross hadn’t been driving very fast, but that didn’t seem to help him get better traction. At once the truck had begun to fishtail on the slick road and, like an amateur, he tried to overcorrect the swerve and they’d spun around. 

“Well, we’re stuck now. Do you want me to get out and help you?” she offered.

He shook his head. He knew he was lucky that he wasn’t hurt worse and he was relieved the girl seemed unharmed. Outside the rain that had some time ago turned to sleet, was spraying the windscreen like buckshot. 

Now what? He closed his eyes and took a long inhale. 

“Will the main road be any better?” she asked. 

“I doubt it. The gritters haven’t been out yet--we’d have heard them.”

The windows inside the cab were already growing steamy from their warm breath. Demelza wiped hers with the sleeve of parka and leaned over to peer out. The only thing that could be made out through the darkening gloom was the eerie glaze of ice covering the grey mud. Everything seemed to have frozen instantly.

“This is mental,” she said suddenly and reached behind her seat for her bag. She opened the door, and as might be expected, a cold blast swept through the truck. “C’mon, Mister Ross! You’ll freeze out here,” she called, and without waiting for him, carefully began to make her way up the icy path back to the house.

 

\-----

The hallway was pitch black--and now quite cold--when they first entered the house, but it didn't take them long to fumble for the torches they’d left by the coat pegs. Garrick was excited to see them both again so soon and ran in circles between their legs. Ross stepped out of his muddy boots then shuffled to the parlour in his socks.

 _I’ll get this blaze going again._ Ross realised he hadn’t said the words out loud but Demelza must have known that’s what he was doing; she and Garrick had already disappeared elsewhere. 

Ross added more wood to the banked ashes and poked at it dispiritedly. Slowly the glow started to intensify until he felt assured the embers could be roused enough to tackle the log--the fire wasn’t so long neglected that it had burnt out completely.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring into grate. Demelza came in to gather some firewood then left without saying a word. He thought he heard a little hum coming from her but couldn’t be certain--his ears still throbbed from being out in the freezing wind.

“If you’re making a fire in the kitchen, I’ll get more wood from the yard.” This time he called out and was surprised to hear his voice echo through the house.

She came back a minute later, holding a stainless steel bowl from the kitchen.

“No, you won’t. There’s enough for now, so it can wait. Okay, Mister Ross, let’s take a look at your head.” She plopped herself on the sofa. He understood he was being summoned, and moved to join her.

"Hold this,” she said and handed him a small pocket torch. “No, a bit more like...that’s it.” 

“I’m fine, really,” he started to object but somehow felt powerless before her.

Her brows were knit and she bit her lip as she first inspected his face, then dabbed his wound gently with a cloth. The bleeding had largely stopped but when the dried blood met the wet flannel, it made a smeary mess that needed to be wiped away. 

She put her hand under his chin and turned his head to further examine him. 

Ross meekly accepted this care, surprised at the authority she projected. When he dared to look up, he saw her in a moment of still-contemplation that seemed almost private. She’d let go of his face and now put her thumb to her own twisted lips. He’d never seen her eyes that closely before--and now in the dim, he could barely make out their colour at all, just their sparkle. But he swore he could see her thoughts dance across them.

“Well?” he asked.

“I think the skin above your right eyebrow split when your head hit the window, that’s all. Nothin’ cut into the flesh, really. I don’t think you need stitches--not that you could get them tonight if you did,” she said.

“I’ll have a set of scars then, one for each side of my face.” He tried to laugh.

“Oh?” she asked. She took his chin again and tilted his head so she could see his left side. The scar along his cheekbone from his injuries in Cyprus was still visible, only partially hidden by the stubble he wore regularly. “Was it bad once? Most days I hardly notice it,” she added.

“Yes, it was, but at the time my looks were the least of my concerns,” he said. Then he’d been more worried about whether he’d ever walk again--or ever love again.

“You know some doctors are usin’ super glue now instead of stitches to close a wound,” she said. “It’s supposed to work well and leave little scarrin’.”

“Are you going to experiment on me?” he asked.

“Nah, we don’t have any glue around, so you’re out of luck, Mister Ross. In fact, I couldn't even find a plaster in the house. I have some in my room but ...” she said. 

“Don’t bother going out in this sleet. I’ll be fine,” he said briskly.

“But I do have this--couldn’t hurt to bring down any swellin’!” She laughed and held up a sack of what appeared to be frozen pearl onions. “Who the hell buys _frozen onions_? These aren’t meant to actually be eaten, are they?”

“You’d have to ask Prudie, but judging by the ancient ice crystals on them I’d say they’ve been at Nampara longer than you have.” He tentatively put the bag to his face. The room was already cold, so to willingly seek out something even colder seemed counter intuitive. He winced and lowered his hand.

“Well speakin’ of ice, no use runnin’ the generator for the fridge and freezer. I’ve cleared ‘em and moved most of what’s worth savin’ outside. I think it will all keep in the yard overnight. What won’t, we can eat for dinner. It won’t be as nice as lunch but I’ve a plan that I think will work,” she explained.

“Shall I help you?”

She raised his hand holding the ice pack back up to his eye and flashed him a stern look.

“No, Mister Ross. You just sit there until you are called.”  

Without being asked, she went to the cabinet against the wall and poured him a rather stiff drink.

“Here’s a double for you,” she winked, clearly proud that she’d read his mind.

“More like a triple,” he laughed. He wondered for a moment if he should offer her one. She was sixteen now--sixteen and a half in fact--still underage to buy her own drinks but not to be served at home. How old was he when someone first slipped him a brandy at Christmas? Did it matter that he wasn’t her relative? He wasn’t sure of the law. The last thing he needed was Tom Carne bursting in and finding her drinking and alone with him the dark. 

But she’d risen and was already gliding off before he had a chance to finish his thinking. Maybe later.

“You know, Demelza, the way you tended to me just now--patient but confident, not deterred by any blood. I think you’ll make a fine vet someday. You have the right touch,” he said, looking up at her as she stood in the darkened door frame.

“Well, you’re a gentle beast to practice on, Mister Ross, and aren’t likely to bite me!”

\----

The whisky did its job and despite his throbbing head, Ross soon dozed off again. When he woke this time the fire was still going but otherwise the room had gone completely black. He reached for the unlit torch next to him on the sofa and shook it. No use--the batteries were dead. 

But he didn’t need light. He knew how many steps it took to get to the staircase, to the downstairs toilet, to the kitchen. Once he was in the hallway he could hear Demelza singing to herself. And once again he followed his nose.

“Mister Ross, that you?” she asked and held up a candle as he emerged in the kitchen doorway. 

“Better be me,” he replied. “I’m not interested in entertaining any visitors tonight.”

“It’s just the wind is makin’ things a little creepy,” she said softly.

 _But you’re not afraid of the dark,_ he almost teased. Instead he inhaled.

“Demelza, what on earth have you managed…?”

“It’s almost all ready, here have a seat,” she giggled and set another lit candle down in front of his place at the table. The old kitchen table had a white cloth spread on it--he wasn’t sure where she’d found it--and she’d placed a bowl of holly, pine, and yew clippings as a centerpiece. He hoped she hadn't gone in the icy yard to pick them but doubted that. They most likely had been adorning the house already but he’d been too thick to notice.

“Ta dah!” she cried. “Here we go!”

“You cooked on the hearth?” he asked incredulously.

“No--not on an open flame but the oven. See?” She opened the little cast iron door built into the brickwork up the side. “Didn't you ever wonder what was behind that door? That’s how they used to bake bread and stuff back in like the 20th century!”

“And you got it to work?”

“I think so--you have to keep the fire hot and move things around. And be all kinds of patient. I was mostly makin’ frozen stuff but it took _forever_ to warm through,” she said cheerfully.

“Demelza, I’m impressed! But you know it wasn’t the 20th century, more like the 19th.”

“Same thing,” she laughed. “Oh, but I suppose not to you.”

“Because I’m fifty?” he teased. “Is that it?”

“Oh don’t be silly Mister Ross. I know your birthday is next week and you’ll be turnin’...at least 37!”

“You are getting closer, I suppose.”

“Okay--now I told you this wasn’t gonna be elegant--it’s only fish fingers and peas. But if you drink it with an ale you can pretend you are in a really bad pub.”

“This is simply incredible,” he stammered as she placed a hot plate in front of him. When he looked up at her he could tell--even in the dark-- she was beaming with pride.

“Prudie’d said you were goin’ to Trenwith tonight, Mister Ross. If I’d known you were gonna be home alone I’d have prepared you a special supper in advance, like I did for Garrick.”

“No, that’s tomorrow that I’ll go there,” he said and did not relish the reminder. “But I’m not alone--am I, Demelza? So tell me...just what does Garrick get?” Ross asked.

“Oh, he gets his treat tomorrow,” she whispered as though the dog might overhear them.

“But what else am I smelling?”

“Yes _that’s_ for you! Another surprise,” she said, “For later.”

“Okay, I can wait. But please sit…”

“No worries, I’m comin’! I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” she laughed. “Oh your ale!” She leapt back up and returned a moment later with a tall can of Grambler copper ale and a glass for him. “Cheers!” she sang.

“Best pub ever,” he said. In the moment, he meant it. He was so touched by it all--the resourcefulness, the unexpected meal, the easy company. He realised he’d been smiling for some time--an almost unfamiliar sensation. “Do you want one?” he asked her holding his can aloft.

“An ale? Oh no, Mister Ross. I can’t stand the stuff.”

\-------

Demelza put the last of the fish fingers on each of their plates, then without meaning to, shivered. They had been so absorbed in their Christmas dinner that they hadn’t noticed just how cold the house had grown.

“I’m afraid it will only get worse as the hour grows later,” Ross said sympathetically. “We’ll have to bundle up I think. Wearing a hat will help for sure.”

“Okay, but before we go get on our parkas, let’s have dessert first.”  

Ross raised an eyebrow but said nothing; he was no longer surprised by her determination to create a festive Christmas.

“Fucking hell! That’s hot!” She was standing before the old oven door again but had jumped back, waving her hand, presumably to cool a burn.

“Don’t be foolish, Demelza. Use an oven mitt,” Ross chided then realised he should try to be kinder. “Are you badly hurt? Do you need ice?” Of course any ice would have to come from the yard, not the freezer.

“I _did_ use mitts! It’s just the damn things just have holes in them--I think Prudie caught them on fire one time too many. And don’t talk to me about bein’ foolish when you couldn’t even be arsed to wear a seatbelt!” she half laughed, half spat. 

He hadn’t expected such a vehement response from her but she was right. His actions earlier were foolish. He always made such a production about safety precautions on the farm. He should know his own habits--good and bad--were being watched as well. He’d need to set a better example.

“I just wasn’t expectin’ quite so much steam...” She grabbed a tea towel for extra reinforcement and tried again.

 _Steam? What is she up to now?_ Ross thought. She was just a few feet away but it was too dark to make out exactly what she was doing.

“Okay, Mister Ross. I can’t make any promises this time…” She set the copper pan down on the table for a moment then readjusted the tea towel wrapped around her hands.

“Is that a…”

“Christmas puddin’! Well it’s supposed to be anyway, I never made one before. ‘Course this one wasn’t in the oven for six hours only two, but I think it looks set. Guess we’ll find out,” she laughed. Carefully she turned it over a plate and held her breath as she lifted the mold and stepped back. The dark, fragrant pudding held its shape and glistened in the candlelight.

“That’s incredible, Demelza. Did you learn this from the cooking channel too?”

“No--there’s a recipe on the side of this old pan. See? This thing must be ancient!” She held up the mold for him to inspect. Sure enough there were words, mostly still legible, embossed around the copper baking dish--ingredients for a classic pudding.

“And we had mostly everythin’, except we didn’t have candied peel and we didn’t have any stout. I did use some ale but before you go and lecture me, Mister Ross, I _know_ it’s not the same thing.”

“It smells amazing…” He closed his eyes and inhaled again. 

“And I didn't make the sauce ‘cause I didn't know if you had any brandy you could spare...” she apologised.

“I’ll go check,” he said, and was on his feet at once. It was the least he could do to contribute to her efforts.

He came back quickly with a bottle and a sportive grin.

“We haven’t any brandy in the house but we’ve this old rum. It’s overproof so it should light easily,” he said, unstopping the dusty bottle.

“Overproof? What does that mean?” she asked.

“Very strong,” he winked and retrieved two small glasses from the shelf behind him. 

“Wait...light it?” she asked nervously.

“Yes, Demelza. It has to be set ablaze! That’s the best part of a pudding. That and the coin.”

“Oh, I forgot the coin!” she lamented. “But you know how to…” she asked tentatively.

“Sure, I suppose.” He sniffed the bottle then poured out a glassful. As he drizzled the rum liberally over the pudding, he glanced over at her. She was watching him, her mouth open in suspended laughter and awe. He was happy to entertain her after all she’d done for him that day. After the last drop dribbled out, he refilled the one glass and then poured another. The second he set in front of her.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“To drink. I believe it’s customary to toast on Christmas Eve,” he explained matter of factly. He was amused that she for once didn’t know what to do or say.

“Okay…” She wasn’t fully convinced but took the glass in her hand as directed. “It smells...it smells _strong_ , Mister Ross.”

“Well you're a strong girl. Happy Christmas!” he said and raised his glass. 

He kept his eyes trained on her as she timidly lifted her glass. She smiled then looked down at her drink with the same twisted lips of contemplation he had seen on her face earlier. After taking a few seconds to further brace herself, she drank the rum down in one great gulp.

“Oh fucking hell! It burns! Oh god!” she laughed, wiping first her mouth, then her watering eyes.

“It will warm you, for sure.” He threw his own drink back and found he shuddered just a bit himself.

“I think I’d rather just get a hat,” she quipped. 

His laugh--a deep, hearty chuckle--rang out in the kitchen and in just an instant, changed everything. It was so rare a sound and cut through the darkness, charging the room with joy. The sort of happiness that in itself was a deep comfort--like being truly at home.

Ross refilled their glasses then prepared for his next mission.

“Do you want a match?” Demelza offered.

“I’ll just use the candle.”

“It might drip on...” she began but never got to finish her sentence. 

As soon as Ross touched the light to it, the rum soaked pudding caught with an eager rush. But the flame then raced down the pudding and off the plate, onto the table cloth where some rum had dribbled unbeknownst to either of them. Within seconds, the table cloth was also ablaze.

“Oh no!” Demelza was on her feet and rushing to the sink.

“The mitts! The mitts!” he shouted fumbling about until he found them. He deftly beat down the fire before it spread any further as she returned with a glass of water. 

“No, not on the pudding!” he stopped her. “You’ll ruin it.”

“But it’s gonna burn down the house!” she cried.

“No, the worst is out now. Just let it die out….” He held her arm back and watched as the flare slowed, then faded away once its fuel was spent. “Well that wasn’t what I expected to be doing tonight,” he said. 

“Are you burnt?” she asked softly.

“No, not at all.” He smiled then he saw she was still shaken. She’d stiffened, her eyes were wide and her mouth was open as if she was trying to decide whether or not to breathe. 

“But the table cloth. It was so fine…” She muttered and glanced at him, then down to her feet. 

Maybe she wasn’t scared about the fire but...was she expecting him to erupt in anger?

“Come on, let’s eat this thing,” he said gently and with mitted hands, guided her back to her chair. “Better drink that,” he urged. “For your nerves.”

She did as she was told then shivered again as the rum ran down her throat. But like a dog shaking its wet fur, she seemed to regain her previous vitality, and loosened at once.

“I been thinkin’, Mister Ross,” she said after a minute.

“Yes?” he tried to contain the snicker of laughter. It was a familiar refrain and usually some sort of admonishment--normally directed at him--would follow. But whatever it was, he wanted her to know he always took her thinking seriously.

“Well, maybe next Christmas, instead of rum on the puddin’, we should be sure to use brandy.”


	17. Friends and Flames

**Christmas 2015**

**Part III: 8-10PM**

“Have you spoken to your family? To tell them you’re not coming home tonight?” Ross asked. He hated to bring the Carnes up but it was weighing heavy on him in the hours since they’d abandoned his truck in the mud.

He and Demelza had agreed to leave the dinner mess for the morning, and after banking the fire in the kitchen, had moved back into the parlour. Now they were bundled in their outdoor things--jackets, beanies, even gloves. Ross tended the hearth and as long as they stayed close enough to it, the room was tolerable. 

“Yeah, they’ll be fine,” she answered with a sigh. “Turns out my father has a girlfriend! Can you believe it? Anyway, they’re goin’ over to her house tonight and I think they were relieved maybe that without me they could all fit in my dad’s car.”

“I’m sure they’ll miss you,” Ross said automatically. She ignored his empty comment and looked back at the fire.

“You need a Christmas tree, Mister Ross,” she said without turning around. She’d taken Garrick in her lap for one extra layer and he eagerly accepted his duty to keep her warm. He licked her face, intrigued by the smells of fish, nutmeg, and rum that lingered on her skin. 

“Do I?”

“Next year, we’ll see to that,” she said.

“You’re making lots of plans for next Christmas Eve,” he laughed. “There’s still four hours left of this one.”

“We had a tree last year in Illogan but to be honest, I think my brother Luke nicked it from somewhere. One day there it was--already decorated and everythin.’ Then a few days later, it was gone, like it had never been there. No one mentioned it again. But that’s the way things are with my family. Things come and go. Nothin’ is ever predictable…”

It was the most Ross had heard her open up about her family in some time. But then again he didn't usually spend hours on end with her. Maybe it just took her a while to let her guard down. Or else...?

Of course, the rum was chipping away at her defenses.

“Do you like the routine here?” he asked. “You don’t find it tedious?” 

“Oh no,” she cried. “Even though there’s a regular schedule of chores, things still come up and you gotta be ready for surprises. Some creature gets sick or suddenly gets mean and won’t mind you. Or the threat of bad weather makes you have to work twice as hard when the sun is shinin’...then there was the one time Jim didn't lock up the chicken feed and the goats had diarrhea for twelve fuckin’ hours. We were lucky that’s all it was…”

“They might have only been sick for a day but I seem to recall you convinced Jim to muck the stalls for a week after that,” Ross laughed.

“Really Mister Ross, how could he object?” she raised an eyebrow coyly.

Yes, she could be persuasive. 

“Well now I know what to get Prudie for Christmas next year,” she said, changing the subject.

“Yes? What’s that?”

“A new pair of oven mitts!”

“They are in even worse shape now I believe,” he laughed. “But a worthy sacrifice.”

“Oh! I forgot!” she said suddenly and jumped to her feet. “I have somethin’ for you, Mister Ross.”

“Demelza you don’t need to...and if it’s more food I assure you, I’m quite full from…”

“No, I promise it’s not edible. I’ll be right back.”

And just like that, she ran out of the room. A minute later he heard the back door slam. Had she really gone out in this sleet? What was she thinking? Or maybe she wasn’t thinking--and it was the rum that was spurring her on.

\---

Garrick had stayed behind and now he paced the room restlessly then pawed at the door. When he saw he was being ignored, he trotted over to Ross squatting by the fire, and barked insistently.

“For god’s sake, boy. She’ll be right back,” Ross snapped and jabbed at the flames irritably. “Surely my company isn’t that inadequate?” He poured himself another drink and left the half-empty bottle on the table by the sofa. 

The old rum had grown on him. Rather than tasting like the last hope of a desperate pirate, it now seemed festive--almost special even. But Ross suspected that had more to due with the exceptional circumstances and perhaps the warm company.

Where was she? She’d been gone an awfully long time.

“Oh Mister Ross!” she called from the hallway then breezed into the parlour, her arms full of firewood.

“Demelza! You are not a beast of burden--what did I tell you? I would have gotten more wood…” Ross wasn’t hiding his exasperation but she didn’t hear it. 

“It’s brilliant,” she gushed while he hastened to take the armload from her. “Mister Ross, it’s snowin’!” She was beaming, her white teeth glistening in the candlelight as she took off beanie and shook out her long hair. Her cheeks were pink--and so was her nose.

“Snow?” he asked. “Is it coming down hard?”

“No, it’s delightful and soft and the whole yard is quiet and magical!” she went on. “It’s just what I wanted! An’ when you look in the windows of the house you can see the candlelight...it’s so pretty.” She brushed the flakes off her shoulder and stamped her feet.

“Come by the fire and warm up,” he said, this time trying to be more welcoming in his tone. 

“I checked in on the animals again while I was out. Everyone’s still snug and warm. Even Adele is calm now that the wind has died. I gave them all just a little extra so they’ll be fine until mornin’ now.” She pulled off her mittens and splayed her fingers before the roaring blaze.

“I should have helped you,” he lamented.

“You can't be expectin’ to do everythin’, Mister Ross! Besides your job was here--keepin’ this fire goin’,” she said. “Okay, here’s your present.” 

“What? Demelza? You didn't need to...and to go out…” He was really getting flustered and wasn’t sure how to parry her enthusiasm. 

She reached in her pocket and pulled out something small. In the dark he couldn't quite make out what she was holding.

“It’s a friendship bracelet, since you liked mine,” she explained. “I made it for you.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you…” he stammered. He’d given her and Prudie and Jim some extra cash as their holiday presents. Somehow this little trinket seemed so much more valuable.

“I hope you like the colours. Red and black are strong colours but pure--not tryin’ to be anythin’ but themselves. Like you, I suppose,” she laughed and took his right wrist in her hand. 

She started to tie it on then fumbled for a minute--it was awfully dark and she was trying to avoid the dark hairs that crept down his forearm to his hands. 

He noticed her fingers were cold when they brushed against his skin.

“There!” she announced proudly and looked up into his face.

“I’m...happy to be your friend, Demelza,“ he said solemnly. 

“Oh you say that now but the next time I’m naggin’ at you for somethin’ you’ll remember how difficult I am!” she laughed.

He opened his mouth to object-- _did she really think she was difficult?_ \--but found the words were slow to come. Meanwhile she had bounced closer to the fire, grabbing Garrick back up in her arms for a cuddle. She seemed to be shimmering in the firelight. 

Then he saw what was happening. Of course, the rum had sharpened her but was dulling him. No, that wasn’t quite true--he was aware and perceiving and even feeling--just completely unable to express himself.

“You’re not difficult,” he finally managed to say. “Well, not always,” he teased, thinking it might be wisest to keep things light.

“Mister Ross? Why do you keep Prudie on?” she asked. 

 _Speaking of difficult,_ he thought.

“You think I should sack Prudie?” he laughed. He felt quite certain Demelza would not in fact be in favour of that.

“No, never! It's just that she’s not very good at...at what you ask her to do. So wouldn't she be better off in a situation where she could feel better ‘bout herself and her work?” 

“You’ve given this some thought,” he replied.

“No, never thought about it until now. But she’d be good with old people, don't you think? Might give her life some meanin’...”

“She was good with my father. What do you know about a meaningful life?” he asked. 

“Nothin’ really. In fact we just read Camus in school so I suppose life really is meaningless…”

He let out another chuckle.

“Oh Demelza,” he laughed. “Sixteen years old is prime time for your first existential crisis. So tell me, did you like Camus?”

“What? I’m not havin’ a crisis!” she protested. “But since you ask, no, I didn't care for Camus very much…I prefer science to literature anyway. It’s more cheering--predictable. And I prefer animals to people too, while we’re at it,” she said and without asking, reached across to the table and poured herself another rum. She drank a sip--not a whole gulp this time--giggled, then closed her eyes.

“Careful, Demelza,” he said gently. “You might regret that tomorrow--it may not feel so festive then.” But it was too late for warnings. She was definitely more than just tipsy.

“Mister Ross, do you think Prudie would mind if I slept in her bed tonight? It’s awful cold up above the barn, though I suppose I could bunk with the goats!”

“I believe you are only half kidding about the goats,” he said. “Listen Demelza, you take my bed in my room. Upstairs. There’s a fireplace in there so if we start a fire now, by the time you are ready to go to sleep it should be warmed up a bit.”

“You sure?” she asked, not sure what to make of his words.

“Yes, I’ll stay here, on the sofa. That way I can tend to this fire too.”

“Oh Mister Ross, that’s such a nice thing to do!” She leapt up, almost upsetting her half-drunk glass. She laughed and threw down the rest before crushing her arms around him in a hug.

“Steady, Demelza,” he said, reaching up to put his hands on her arms.

“Merry Christmas, Mister Ross!”

\----

Demelza lay on the rug in front of the hearth in Ross’s bedroom. She kept her warm things on and hadn’t undressed, but it wasn’t long before she started to feel the heat from the fire easing the chill. Her cheeks were flushed but that was not necessarily a result of the flames in the grate. 

The wine she’d drunk at the summer bonfire with Jinny did not have nearly this effect on her. She’d never had strong spirits before and felt surprised as the influence continued to wear on. She’d watched her mate Aislin overdo it when they went to Ibiza and she’d seen Jim and his mates get pissed loads of times, but she’d always managed to stop herself after just one drink. 

The room was swaying but gently, in an enjoyable way, like she was dancing even though she was lying down. A smile spread across her face but she couldn't really pinpoint what was making her happy; normally she hated feeling out of control. She pulled Garrick into a hug and laughed out loud.  

The dog didn't quite understand why she’d joined him on the floor and after a minute, abandoned her and jumped up on the old mahogany bed with a sigh.

 _Okay, time for sleep,_ she told herself and tried to stand, then staggered just a bit. She put her hand out to reach for the bed and found it much closer than she thought. She giggled again then happily tumbled over onto it, glad that she’d left her muddy shoes downstairs.

Ross had promised to check the fire upstairs later and bank it once she was asleep so she needn’t bother with it now. She lay on her side in the dark, watching the flames lap at the cold air.  

She felt alive but blurred at the edges, like the world was humming to her. It was lovely now but she knew both from instinct and from the experience of living with her father all those years, that things could get messy quickly. The worst might still be to come. 

Oh, it would not do to be sick in Mister Ross’s bed!

 _You’re a strong girl--_ isn’t that what Mister Ross had said to her? He would be disappointed in her if he saw her now, stumbling about unable to focus her thoughts. Or was this how he felt every night? She knew he liked strong drink.

“Oh Mister Ross,” she whispered and buried her face into the cold pillowcase.


	18. Ashes

**Christmas 2015**

**Part IV:  8AM-11AM**

When she woke, Demelza was struck by the room’s softness. The snow outside muffled any sounds and the sun reflecting off the white banks, bathed everything in that special winter light found only after a snowfall. The storm was over.  

She shifted her stiff body then felt the extra weight on the other side of the mattress. Without even looking over, she sensed he was there and gasped. 

Beside her, his dark head sunken into his own pillow, Ross laid asleep. 

Demelza clutched the covers up to her neck, then quickly felt herself under the duvet. She was still more than fully clothed--her extra layers very much intact--and this helped to allay any ridiculous fears that something might have  _ happened. _ Between them.

Events from the night before swirled through her mind, a blur mostly, with some scenes coming into sharper focus. The truck’s accident on the slippery mud, the near disastrous lighting of the pudding, the bottle of overproof rum, the soft hairs on Ross’s wrist when she tied on the bracelet. Demelza could only recall bits of the conversation they’d had in the cold parlour but she was certain that when she went upstairs, she’d gone up alone. So how had Ross ended up next to her in the bed?

He was at the far edge of the old mattress--was he even aware that she was there? Still he was close enough that she could hear him breathe, see his creased lids flutter just a bit, smell the wood smoke that emanated from his clothes and his hair.

She felt as though she was standing over a crack in the earth that was widening under her feet. This man-- _ her _ Mister Ross, whom she cared about more than any other person--was closer now than he’d ever been. But it was all wrong. So wrong. And it must be her fault. 

_ What have I done?  _ She tried again to recall what she had said--what he had said in return--and came up with nothing.

“Sorry, Mister Ross,” she whispered as she slipped out of the bed. “I’m sorry.” But for what? She couldn't say.

\----

Demelza padded around the Nampara kitchen looking for her boots. The flags were cold underfoot but yesterday’s chill--the aching cold that had cut through to their bones--was gone. The power must have been restored in the night and now the heaters all clicked and hummed, straining mightily to warm the old house. In almost every room, the lights were on; the brightness hurt her eyes in a way she hadn’t expected.

She switched on the kettle and immediately set to work. 

It was after nine when she came back inside from the barn--still early but she could put it off no longer. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Happy Christmas to you too, Sam,” she said into her mobile after her brother picked up. “Is he? Good. Well, can you tell him to come get me now? Don’t bother with Mister Ross’s driveway, it hasn’t been plowed yet. I’ll be waiting on the main road then. Cheers.”

\-----

At the quiet stirring beside him, Ross’s eyes opened, but the weight of the surrounding daylight proved too heavy and his lids shut again instantly. Yet in that brief moment he’d made out the figure slipping out from under the duvet on the other side of his bed. Garrick’s nails clicked on the floorboards to follow as she tiptoed across the room. Seconds later Ross was alone again.

Now he opened his eyes fully and tried to sit up. His head ached and his mouth was dry--these were familiar morning feelings for him, but the wash of confusion as to why the girl had been there was enough to jolt him awake.

To his right, the soft indention in the pillow and the rumpled bedding remained. No, he hadn’t been mistaken--these were traces she’d slept beside him. He rubbed his eyes and the cold ashy grate came into focus, its fire long since gone out.

_ The fireplace. _

It all started to come back to him. He’d promised to bank the fire for her after she went to bed--that was it, the reason why he’d come upstairs. He must have forgotten he’d offered to sleep on the sofa and once in his room, instinctively--drunkenly--climbed into his own bed. And without even tending the hearth.

_ Without even realising she was there? _ he questioned his actions. Reckless, dangerous. What kind of pathetic inebriate had he become? 

Ross allowed his head to fall back on his pillow and grabbed another to shield his eyes. It was cowardice--he knew it--but all the same he wanted to slink back to sleep and hide from the shame. He hadn’t expected Demelza’s scent to be on the pillow--he hadn’t realised she even had a scent, but of course she did, and it was not a welcome reminder. After tossing the offending pillow across the room, he pulled the covers over his face instead, and willed himself back to sleep.

When he finally woke again, it was half ten. He could avoid it no longer and rose.

The house was quiet but for Garrick whining as he laid forlorn at the front door. Ross knew at once they were alone; Demelza must have left to go back to Illogan. If she had merely gone to her room or out to tend to the stock, she would have taken Garrick with her.

It was curious. The house was warmer and brighter now that the daylight and the power had returned, but it seemed emptier and more devoid of life than it had the night before.

In the kitchen he found a short note left on the table:  _ Food all back in the fridge--nothing spoiled but the milk froze. There’s still some bacon for breakfast. Please give Garrick his Christmas supper--also in fridge. Be back Sunday. _

At least Demelza said she’d be back and he needn’t worry that his clumsy drunken actions had scared her off for good. The idea that she might have felt intimidated or even frightened by his ox-like thoughtlessness made his stomach turn.

He wasn’t hungry, still he opened the fridge and unwrapped the bundle wrapped in white butcher’s paper that he suspected had been set aside for Garrick’s special treat. The bile that was already churning within him wasn’t calmed by the sight of the shimmering dark kidneys and fatty meat scraps. He put the whole thing--wrappings and all--on the floor for the dog then shuffled into the parlour.

Another cold grate and pile of ashes. The faint smell of kerosene merged with the more aromatic wood smoke--no doubt both would linger in the upholstery and carpets indefinitely. And there on the small table, sat the bottle of rum, nearly empty.  A sunbeam came pouring in through the window pane and like a hapless idiot, oblivious to what grim despair it exposed, shone on the smeary glasses left behind from the night before.

Ross had never felt so low.  Over the years, he’d made countless mistakes and acted irresponsibly, recklessly, self-destructively. But he’d never endangered another. Not until now. Last night he’d drunk too much, hadn’t properly attended the fires before retiring, and had...well at best he’d broken a promise to Demelza to take care of things. At worst, he’d violated the sense of security she’d fought so hard to establish for herself here at Nampara. The black and red weaving tied around his wrist rubbed his skin, reminding him of his failings.

He had to do better.

Ross gathered up the offending rum in one hand and resisted the urge to fling it into the fireplace--the recycling bin was too good for it. Then he stopped, and retracing his steps, went to the cabinet in the parlour where he kept other bottles. He grabbed the half-empty whisky as well and marched to the back door with both.  

The cold air felt good on his face but the shimmering snowscape dazzled his still-tired eyes. He poured the remaining whisky and the last traces of rum out on the snow that had piled up against the house and watched as the slushy brown puddle grew. The white drift that Demelza had so admired the night before, was yet another thing he’d now marred.

_ No more, _ he thought.  _ I can’t keep doing this. I can never let her down again. _


	19. Like Someone Who Would Know Her Own Mind

**May 2016**

Ross shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, then wound down his window for air. It was a spring day that had grown warm rather quickly and since the truck was now standing still, the interior of the cab was stuffy and stale. On the dashboard, in the fine layer of dust that had accumulated there, a slender finger had traced stars and hearts, probably without even realising what it was doing--her hands were always moving, weren’t they?

He tried to stretch out his cramped legs then thought better of staying in the truck, and stepped out onto the pavement of the Tesco car park. He was anxious to get home; this stop was to be their last errand of the day but was taking longer than expected.

Ross had picked Demelza up from school that afternoon and together they’d driven down to Redruth on Nampara business. First they’d gone to Carharrack Animal Feeds in Pennance Road, and while they only had one item to pick up--a bottle of organic horse supplements Demelza had ordered special for Adele--she’d ended up chatting with the clerk for almost twenty minutes about how sudden changes in grass chemistry might adversely affect a horse’s system. 

Next they’d gone to the tractor supply store. Visits there had been growing in frequency over the last two years as Ross’s tractor seemed to be in constant need of service for one malfunction or another. Ross had gotten good at doing the repairs himself--he’d gained some mechanical training while in the army--but the costs of new parts were adding up, and in the end there was a limit to what he could do with the old thing. He knew he would soon have to reexamine his finances to see if he could afford to replace it altogether. But even a used one, if decent, would be at least £10,000. Another loan he’d need to take out and more interest that would accumulate, and yet he had little choice if he wanted the hopyard to remain productive. 

So by the time they’d pulled into the Tesco car park,Ross was in a sour mood. 

“Why don’t you wait here, Mister Ross, while I dash in? I won’t be a minute and you can have... a bit of a quiet rest all to yourself,” Demelza suggested. 

Ross laughed weakly and saw what she was doing. She was, subtly, asking him to pull himself together--she was also recognising his distress and offering to help him in whatever small way she could.

She’d needed to pick up some things for their dinner at Prudie’s request. But they all knew that no matter what Demelza bought, it would be the girl who ended up preparing the meal, not Prudie. It happened time and again. Sometimes it was because Demelza was seized with inspiration while shopping. Other times it was because she brought home something Prudie didn’t even recognise, like when Demelza presented her with garlic scapes.

"An’ what ‘xactly am I to do with these?” Prudie had sneered, not even willing to touch them.

“They are supposed to be very flavourful, Prudie. I read a recipe for garlic scape pesto that apparently goes well with fish,” Demelza had explained, handing over a wrapped parcel of hake fillets to bolster her argument.

“Didn’t they ‘ave any sea bass?” Prudie cocked her head, still skeptical of Demelza’s vision.

“Sea bass is high in mercury,” Demelza replied. “And anyway, the hake was cheaper.”

“Alright, girl, suppose you’ll have to show me then,” Prudie huffed, still put out, as though she’d been robbed of a chance to cook supper herself.

Ross liked how, for Demelza, education was not a thing limited to school. Eagerly, she grasped at all the scraps of knowledge she could find--about grass chemistry, and mercury levels in fish, or even garlic scape pesto--and whatever new idea she’d come across, she’d immediately put it to use in her own life. She was a quick learner, undeterred by any obstacles in her way. Hers was just so unlike Ross’s own approach; he was slow, overly-deliberate, always looking back to labour over his mistakes. Demelza didn't seem to let the past trouble her. At least Ross hoped she didn't.

In his agitated impatience, Ross considered reaching into the glove box for one of the remaining cigarettes he knew was still there. But if he mistimed this whole endeavour, and Demelza came out to see him smoking, she’d surely give him hell. He didn't want to let her down. 

_Besides, do I even have a lighter with me?_

While he wrestled with his growing urge, a shiny black Audi pulled up next to his truck, and when the windows were lowered Ross saw, to his regret, he knew its occupants. 

Susan Teague was a neighbour who lived relatively close to Nampara. Ross knew she had been familiar with his father and remained so with Uncle Charles. Her youngest daughter, Ruth, had been at school with Elizabeth and the two women had remained friends all these many years. But the Teague-Poldark acquaintance was not one Ross had sought to maintain after his father’s death. Quick to gossip and to judge, absolutely obsessed with status and superficial markers of wealth, the Teagues were, in a word, insufferable.

“Hello, Mr. Poldark, we’ve seen so little of you lately,” Mrs. Teague both greeted and chastised him at the same time. She’d exited her car and after a quick glance at Ross’s old truck, came closer to chat. “And tell me, how is your little hops growing experiment?”

“It is hardly an experiment.” Ross hoped he didn’t sound too abrasive in his quick response. He wasn’t simply messing about but putting everything he had into this venture, for better or worse. The hopyard had been growing over the years so it wasn’t really _little_ either. The way Mrs. Teague spoke of it--as though he were just some spoiled rich kid whose father was bankrolling a passing fancy--made him uneasy. Ross had known boys like that when he was in school, boys like George Warleggan, but Ross had never relied on his family for support. How could he? His own father had had nothing to offer. 

“Yes well, this whole craft brewing _trend_...sounds like an engaging hobby, is it not?” Mrs. Teague persisted.

“For some perhaps, but it’s a bit more than a hobby for my colleagues at Carnmore.” Again Ross shook his head at her cluelessness.

“And you, Ross? Are you involved in the brewing as well? Do you do anything outside of your... _farming_?” Ruth asked. She too had stepped closer, touching his arm as she spoke, trying to show she was a bit more responsive than her mother.

“I’m very well occupied, I assure you.” Ross smiled politely but was not about to pursue the conversation further. Why didn’t they take the hint and just leave him alone? What exactly did they want?

And then Ross saw what Ruth was doing. Her smile, her sidewise glances, her batting lashes, her gently cocked head--Ruth Teague was flirting with him.

He almost laughed. If he raised his arm just now so she could see the perspiration stain on his shirt or if he invited her for a drive in his smelly truck, would she remain interested? Couldn’t Ruth see him for who he really was?

 _Come on, Demelza,_ he thought, scanning the car park. _What’s taking you so long?_

“Tell me, is your cousin Verity still seeing that... _woman_?” Ruth asked suddenly, in a lowered voice so even her mother, who was gathering up her designer carrier bags from the boot, might not hear her. “Of course you’ve been so ‘well occupied’, you might not know. Especially if she were keeping it a secret…”

Ross tried not to let his anxiety show on his face.

Verity’s announcement to her father at Christmas had not gone well. Charles had grown silent when she’d first told him about her engagement to Andrea Blamey, then had excused himself to go fume alone in his room. According to Verity, it was another two weeks before Charles could bring himself to speak to her at all. And when he finally did, he issued her an ultimatum.

She was to stop seeing Andrea or he’d pull his support of the cafe.

Verity was beside herself--furious, humiliated, hurt, but also ready to end her relationship with her father and give up her business for Andrea. But maybe she wouldn’t have to give it up entirely--Uncle Charles owned the building but the business itself was hers alone. It had been profitable for years and she’d long ago repaid any initial loans from her father. If she could just find another location that was as centrally situated and as affordable! Until such a place was secured, she outwardly agreed to her father’s outrageous demands, knowing it would only be temporary.

So just what did Ruth know? It almost sounded like a threat to Ross. But why? Was Ruth willing to widely share what she obviously knew about Verity unless he returned the attention she was bestowing on him? He had no desire to play along. Ruth Teague held no interest for him and he had little regard for social niceties. He could hardly bring himself to remain polite in even the most superficial conversations between neighbours. 

“Mister Ross!” Just then Demelza called out as she made her way across the car park towards them. She must have been inspired in her shopping for she carried not one but four bags. Ross took hope that maybe this tedious afternoon would be worth it if in the end it resulted in a delicious evening meal.

The light breeze suddenly picked up and threatened to whip Demelza’s skirt up with it. She laughed, and even though her hands were full, managed to position the bags so as to prevent any embarrassing wardrobe gaffes.

“That must be the young person you’ve adopted,” Mrs. Teague said, her eyes on Demelza’s long bare legs.

“I’ve adopted no one,” Ross said. “I needed a hand with my stock--and I have more than one farm hand who lives in at Nampara. The girl _is_ old enough to know her own mind…”  He wasn’t sure why he added that last bit. As though he agreed there was something amiss about the living relationship he had with this teenager? He wanted out of this conversation quickly.

“Of course. She looks like someone who would know her own mind.” Mrs. Teague’s sneering face matched her bitter tone. 

That was enough for him.

“Good bye then, ladies. I’m afraid I must be getting back to my stock, my hops, and all that occupies me back at my _little_ farm,” Ross said with a cold smile.  

Then, without a backwards glance, he moved briskly across the lot. When he met up with Demelza, he silently took all her carrier bags in his own hands, then ushered her back towards the truck so they might finally begin their journey home together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m of course indebted to Winston Graham’s lines from Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall (and Debbie Horsfield’s s1 dialogue faithfully based on that book) for the title of this chapter and of this whole work (I tweaked the wording ever so slightly). 
> 
> ‘I heard you had – um – adopted a child, Captain Poldark. That is she?’  
> ‘I have adopted no one,’ Ross said. ‘I needed a kitchen wench. The child is old enough to know her own mind. She came. That is all there is about it.’
> 
> ‘A nice little thing,’ said Mrs Teague.‘Yes, she looks as if she would know her own mind.’
> 
> Thanks to xxSparksxx for finding these quotes for me so quickly when asked.


	20. Just Close Your Eyes

**May 2016**

“Fuck, it’s still not turning over,” Mark said, as he tried the ignition yet again. The engine spluttered but this time only offered a weak gasp, and despite Mark’s growing frustration, nothing else happened.

“Are you sure?” Keren asked, leaning over to inspect from the passenger seat.

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve been trying for twenty fucking minutes!” Mark replied.

“Don’t get cross with me!” Keren pouted and turned away abruptly.

“Baby, I’m not cross with you,” Mark cooed, “just with the fucking engine.” He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, accidentally sounding the horn.

“Okay enough of this, then,” Demelza interjected from the back seat. Her impatience was growing into desperation and she was certain she’d jump out of her skin if she had to spend another minute in the stalled car alone with these two. “What are we gonna do? I don't know anythin’ about engines but I think we should get help…”

 _From someone else,_ she thought.

“She’s right, you know,” Keren added.

The three had spent the better part of the day at a music festival in Looe. More accurately, they had driven down together in Mark’s car, but Mark and Keren had slipped off for all of the afternoon and most of the evening, not meeting up with Demelza again until after 8PM. When they did return, Keren’s hair was noticeably tousled and they both reeked of weed. Mark sheepishly handed Demelza a can of lager as atonement for having left her for so long. 

She took the offering, but hadn’t really minded being on her own. She’d happily wandered the scene people watching, checking out the different stages, and enjoying the music, which was afterall, what she’d come there for. 

“Okay, thanks, mate,” Demelza had said, trying not to scoff at the cheap can of Ashfield. She then nursed it for some time and hadn’t felt compelled to go find another once the beer was finished. Demelza didn’t dislike lager, but unlike her friends, she didn’t feel as though she needed alcohol to enjoy herself. She also knew better than to look to drink as a respite from pain. 

Earlier that spring, Ross had teased Demelza about her mates’ preference for lager, after he’d found cans they’d left behind in the rubbish bin by the barn. “Lager is for kids, IPA is for adults,” Ross had said. “It’s all about the hops.” He wasn’t angry about the drinking--he trusted Demelza and knew she had good judgement, regardless of what her friends did.

“Well, I don’t _love_ lager, Mister Ross, but I guess I’m still more a kid than an adult because I can’t stand ales of any kind. It’s all about the hops,” she’d replied with a wink, knowing he wouldn’t be insulted. 

That Demelza took no personal pleasure in what was Ross’s life’s work had recently become an even more humorous point. In April, Carnmore Brewery had released its newest creation, a summer ale called ‘Nampara Girl’. The label featured an illustration of a pretty young woman whose strawberry blonde tresses melded into the setting sun behind her. The resemblance to Demelza was irrefutable and had been deliberate, for Tonkin had given the graphic artist a photo of the girl for reference. It was the photo  of Demelza with Ross and Jim taken years before, on the day Carnmore had won multiple medals at the beer festival in Truro. 

And even though it was light and floral, and even though it had been named after her--inspired by her even--Nampara Girl was still an ale, so Demelza had turned her nose up to it. 

“Well, seems our own Nampara girl is too high and mighty to stoop so low--won’t even drink her own ale. Poor Tonkin has no idea just who he’s dealin’ with,” Prudie had laughed. “I’d drink anythin’ named after me…even washin’ up liquid!”

Demelza knew it was funny but paid no attention to the ribbing they all gave her. She knew her own mind, what she liked and disliked, and neither teasing nor flattery would dissuade her.

\---

The good times in Looe continued on at the camp grounds but the car park was slowly emptying. It was close to midnight, and while enough time had passed since Mark’s last drink, Demelza remembered in a flash that he’d smoked some weed too, so it was probably better if he did not drive at all. So when Mark turned the key yet again, she held her breath, this time hoping the car wouldn’t suddenly start up. She exhaled with relief.

“Can you ring your dad?” Demelza asked him.

“Well that’s not gonna work. He thinks I’m at your house, Dem.”

“What? My house? In Illogan?” Demelza was not happy to unwittingly play a part in his deception. “Why didn't you tell him you were comin’ here?”

“He wouldn’t want me takin’ the car so far from home.”

“Yeah, well for good reason!” Demelza spat.

“And he thinks Dem is short for Demetrius by the way,” Mark laughed.

“Bloody hell,” Demelza muttered. “Keren? What about your…”

“My mum thinks I’m at your house too. I’ve been over there a lot lately,” she said, looking towards Mark with her sexy eyes again.

 _This is getting nauseating. Or maybe it’s the lager making me sick,_ Demelza thought.

“Good god. Am I the only one who hasn’t slept at my house in months?”

Just then another car pulled up alongside them and lowered a window.

“You needa ride?” a deep voice called to them over a thumping bass line but no face appeared from the darkened car. All of Demelza’s senses were on high alert. Horrified, she saw that Mark looked relieved by the offer but she didn’t give him an opportunity to speak.

“No, we’re alright. Cheers, then,” she said firmly, then signaled to her friends in the front seat to close their own windows quickly.

“Aw...why’d you do that, Dem?” Mark asked.

“Why do you think, Mark? That guy was probably a total perv...” Keren started.

“How can you say that? You couldn’t even see him!” Mark said.

“Exactly, Einstein!” Keren scoffed.

“I think I’d better phone Mister Ross...I mean Mister Poldark,” Demelza said and pulled out her mobile.

\----

“Demelza? Are you alright?” Ross’s panic was undisguised when he heard her tentative voice.

“No, no. I’m fine, really. It’s just well, we’re stuck in Looe. Mark’s car isn’t startin’ and he’s tried it over and over, only he doesn’t really know what he’s doin’...”

“He’s most likely flooded the engine. Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m so sorry to even ask. He don’t seem to be able to ring his father and I didn’t know what else to do since it’s too far for a taxi…” Tonight she was less worried that Ross wouldn’t be sober--he’d been much better about drink in recent months--but it was rather late. He had a right to just be too knackered to get in the car and drive for hours.

“No, you did the right thing to ring me. I’ve always told you that.” 

There was something in his voice--sleepy, tender, genuine--that made her almost choke up. 

“Please, Mister Ross, please say no if you can’t or don’t want to…” She only just managed to get the words out. While she knew he wouldn’t say no, she couldn’t bear that he might feel burdened by her.

“I can, Demelza. But it will be a while--an hour at least--until I can get there. Tell me, are you safe?”

“Yes, I am,” she said softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, without any eye rolls or sarcasm. She liked that Ross asked after her safety. He was really the only person who ever seemed to care about it. Of course there was Prudie too, but she fussed about everything and imagined grave and constant peril where none existed. Just the other day she’d fretted when the girl opened a packet of crisps with her teeth.

“And you’ve such good teeth, too!” Prudie had snapped.

“I’m not goin’ to break a tooth on a crisps packet, Prudie,” Demelza had waved her fear away. “Besides there’s far more danger from the hydrogenated oils used to make ‘em.”

“So you admit it, then, there’s somethin’ to worry about after all!” Prudie thought she had proved her point.

At Prudie’s fussing, Demelza usually groaned in exasperation. But tonight, when Ross offered concern, she smiled. He made her feel like she mattered.

“Stay in the car and lock the doors. And if anything or anyone starts to look dodgy, ring 999 straight away,” Ross continued.

“I promise,” she said, and rang off. Suddenly things seemed a little less hopeless to her. Had it not been so dark and if Mark and Keren hadn't been so absorbed in each other, they would have noticed the smile had not yet left Demelza’s face.

“You’re lucky to have such a nice boss,” Keren said.

“Ross doesn’t sound like any boss I’ve ever known,” Mark said  “He sounds more like a cool uncle.”

“No,” Demelza said sharply. She shuddered thinking of her father’s brothers--gruff, bitter, and not to be trusted. She never liked their gaping mouths and cruel eyes.

“A big brother then?” Mark replied, and lit a cigarette. Demelza coughed and wound down the window again. Mark did not take the hint and took another long drag, trying to French inhale--and failing.

“Never had one of those. Plenty of younger brothers though,” Demelza said. “But sometimes--especially times like this--I think of Mister Poldark as kinda...a mate, I guess.” 

Of course he was that. A friend. 

But Demelza had another way, a secret way, she’d been thinking of Ross lately, since Christmas really. Not about him as a person exactly but about him as a presence--and as a body. 

She’d seen him shirtless on countless occasions over the years but the most recent time, on the first warm day of spring, when he stripped to the waist, she saw his chest, his arms, his back covered in dark hair--hair that she now knew was soft to the touch. Hair that curled and led her eye to his belt and continued down where she could no longer see it. She’d felt something shift. 

And it wasn’t just looking at his body that moved her, but his smell--the smell she’d first encountered when she unknowingly shared a bed with him. Then it was a winter smell of smoke and spice, but since the weather had heated up, he left his sweat behind on his clothes or on the bed linens that she sometimes helped Prudie launder. She’d raise them to her nose when no one was around and breathe in the deep, musky smell. She’d never tire of it. Pungent, familiar. Stirring something deep in her that she'd never felt before, yet was recognisable all the same.

Now she found herself thinking about his strong, bare body at regular intervals. At night when she was alone, she’d close her eyes and her hand would slip inside her knickers. Her fingers would wander, then slowly strummed her own flesh, and she’d think of a whole collection of things she found arousing--things others might call rude or obscene--mostly things she couldn't put into words. But why should she find words? Who would she speak them to? They were just images really, scenes she’d imagine. What Ross might do to other women or to himself. Or sometimes, she’d even dare to think about what he could do to her.

Tonight in the dark car park, even though Demelza could feel the tingle associated with such musings spread all over her body, she once again pushed away _those_ thoughts of Ross. Over the months, she had found a way to have multiple tracks running simultaneously in her brain. One reality where she lived and worked with Ross without any fuss, the other in which he was a secret fantasy for her private-most pleasure. 

They never intersected. And she was certain they never would.

\-----

“Demelza? Is that you up ahead--about 100 yards? I’ll flash my lights,” Ross spoke into his mobile while trying to traverse the field that had served as a car park for the festival. It was poorly lit, there were no marked lanes, and despite someone’s attempts to lay down hay, the ground had grown muddy. Only a few cars remained, scattered throughout the lot. Ross had forgotten to ask her the make or the registration number of Mark’s car and didn't want to go knocking on every darkened window to find them.

“Oh, yes! I see you!” Demelza chirped in the other end of the connection and a moment later, he saw her step out of a silver saloon, waving her arms to guide him closer.

Ross was relieved to see she was wearing a long sleeved hoodie, jeans, and wellies. Practical clothes for an outdoor concert on a spring night, not meant to be alluring or reveal anything. He hated thinking in those terms but ever since that day in Redruth when he’d confronted the boy who’d hurt her, he couldn’t ignore the threats that might await her anywhere. She was less likely now to be lured unwittingly into trouble but if someone was strong enough to overpower her, it hardly mattered if she knew her own mind.

Demelza had grown so much over the past year. Yes, she was taller but also curvier, her flesh firmer, as if the inner will she’d always possessed had suddenly manifest itself in muscle. Regardless of what she wore, it was hard not to notice her.

“Thank you, sir, for comin’ down to get us.” Mark got out of his own stranded car to greet Ross when he pulled up in the Mondeo. The young man was trying to be polite and almost sounded sincere. Another figure emerged from the dark car, a shorter girl with streaked brown hair piled on her head and so much eyeliner she looked like a feral animal. Her gaze moved quickly up and down Ross’s body, then not too subtly she licked her lips. Ross would have laughed at this gesture but had a care not to embarrass Mark or Demelza.

“Listen, Mark, about your car,” Ross began. “I’d take a look at it myself but…”

“No, Mister Ross! It’s too dark and too late,” Demelza objected. 

Ross smiled at her. Actually he’d had no intention of playing mechanic now but appreciated that she’d said the words for him. “I know someone who will tow it home for you at a good rate. I can ring him in the morning,” he said.

It wasn’t really his responsibility but since Ross knew Mark’s father, he thought he should try to be helpful. Mr. Daniel was a quiet hard-working man, strong but not a blustering bully, picking fights at his local, like some of the neighbourhood men. He’d been a widow for nearly ten years and lately--on and off--had been sick himself. Ross hadn’t been told the details but the last time he’d seen the man’s papery grey skin, he got the impression the illness wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Ross suspected that he wouldn’t be thrilled to learn his car had been abandoned in a muddy field in Looe. So whatever Ross was doing now, he was doing it to be a good neighbour, to help Mr. Daniel, and also Demelza, but not out of any pity for Mark.

Ross knew Demelza got on well with Paul Daniel, the younger brother, but didn’t know how she’d come to spend time with Mark, the older son, or Mark’s girlfriend, Keren. Maybe they were just a convenient ride to the festival and that was the extent of their friendship. Within just a few minutes Ross was able to discern he didn’t quite trust Mark. For one thing, Mark’s wild infatuation with Keren was obvious straightaway; no doubt it would cloud the boy’s judgement. There also seemed to be something Mark wasn’t being honest about tonight. But Ross was heartened to see Demelza didn’t trust him either; he could read it on her face. Subtle shifts--one raised brow, a slight twitch at the side of her mouth whenever Mark spoke, the look she shot Ross out of the corner of her eye. 

She was a good judge of character, Ross liked to believe. Yet the dark gloom always returned to his gut when he entertained the possibility that someday, she might form a connection with someone untrustworthy, someone who didn't deserve her. Then again, who would deserve her?

\----

“Give me your mobile, my battery is almost dead,” Demelza said to Ross as they rolled north along the empty road. 

“Do you need to phone someone?” Ross asked but handed it over without further question. Driving at night didn't annoy Ross. Somehow the dark road, the bright headlamps, the silence all made him feel focused and alive.

“No, I want to play some music. I made you a playlist on yours. Remember I told you that?” she replied but didn't really expect him to remember everything she’d chattered on about.

“You did? I should make you one of _real_ music,” he teased.

“I already have one of the music you like. Elvis Costello, Nick Cave, David Bowie, the stuff from your teenage years,” she said, and began to scroll through his mobile.

“You know those songs were old when I was a teenager,” he corrected.

“Really? Who turned you on to them then?” she asked earnestly. She’d only briefly wondered about Ross as a teenager, mostly when Prudie or Verity told stories. Had he been serious or did he like a laugh? Was he lonely then too?

“I don’t know. I just found them I guess. I didn’t have a music mentor--like you do with me,” he smiled. 

“Does it make you sad that David Bowie just died?” she asked but then didn’t wait for a response. “Here, Mister Ross, you’ll like this.”

She turned the volume up just a bit, apparently not worried about the couple in the back seat, and began to sing along, adding to the harmony line.

_Here we are,_

_Running circles, around around around around_

_When nothing's right, just close your eyes_

_Close your eyes and you're gone_

“I’m familiar with Beck, Demelza,” Ross said. He was enjoying listening to her sing and was disappointed when she stopped.

“Really?” she asked.

“What happened to One Direction?”

“Oh eew. I don't like them anymore. I’ve…”

“Grown up?”

“Oh, Mister Ross, you’d be glad to hear there’s a goth tribute band playin’ tomorrow in Looe. Too bad we’ll be missin’ ‘em,” she laughed.

“You didn't want to stay at the festival for the whole weekend?” he asked. 

“And camp? No thanks. I’m not much for sleeping on cold ground. Plus I’d be a bit of a third wheel with these two.”

“Are they...?”

“Asleep?” she offered.

“I meant dating,” he said.

“They are very much _in love_ ,” she replied with a smirk and an eye roll.

“You don’t approve?”

“Do they have to let the whole damn world know? We get it...you’re shaggin’...Get over it!” She waved her hand dismissively.

Ross let out a hearty laugh then stopped, afraid he’d wake them. He was enjoying her company and didn’t want to share this conversation with anyone else. “When did you become so proper?” he asked.

“I’ve just gotten wiser as I’ve aged. I told you I’m sworn off boys,” she sighed. 

“Right. Until you’re thirty. Well, Demelza, you say that now but don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Nope, Mister Ross, I’m pretty confident I can keep the ‘no boys’ promise. Thank you so much, by the way. I mean for comin’ out to help us. And it was brilliant of Prudie to lend her car.”

“Well, she doesn't exactly know I have it. I didn’t want to wake her,” Ross said, knowing this would amuse the girl.

He was right. She laughed and settled against the window, but her head remained turned towards him.

“Did you at least have fun today?” he asked.

“I did. It was …” Her eyes finished her sentence for her. 

Ross smiled again. When he saw her acting like a seventeen year old girl, enjoying typical teenage things, it always made him feel happy, and also proud. She didn’t often get the chance, with the mounting pressures of her school work and her unrelenting tasks at Nampara occupying so much of her time.

“But seriously, Mister Ross, for you to drive all the way out here to rescue us, it was more than I could have expected,” she said earnestly.

“Well, Demelza. It’s important for you to have one person you know you can count on for help in difficult times. My dad did it for me once so I figured…”

“He picked you up in the middle of the night from a music festival?” Her brow was knit as she clearly tried to imagine such a scene.

“Yes...it was a Cold Play concert.”

“Oh Mister Ross! Was that an awfully long time ago?”

“Demelza, how old do you think I am?”

This had long been a favourite game of theirs and she always seemed to give different answers depending on the situation.

But Demelza was quite aware of Ross’s age. She knew that he was ten years, two and a half months older than she was--3,726 days older to be precise. Sometimes, especially since March when she’d turned 17, it didn't seem like that much of a difference; other times it seemed an unbreachable gap.

"Let's see, how old are you…Thirty-five?” she teased tonight after offering some mock concentration. “Am I off?”

“Yes, by a bit,” he replied. “But I thought you had a better memory than that. You’ve managed to get it right at least once before.”  

Ross was referring to the chocolate cake she’d made him for his birthday months earlier, in the last days of December. Without prompting, she’d piped an elegant ‘ _27’_ in white icing across the dark ganache.

And the evening of Ross's birthday back in December had been an important one for Ross and Demelza. Ross had tried to escape any birthday fuss and would have been content to act as though it were just an ordinary Tuesday. But Prudie had insisted that they have a cake for him--or more accurately, that Demelza make him one. Ross had to admit that if forced to acknowledge his birthday--and apparently he was being forced--he was at least glad to do it at home, just the three of them. 

“Seems a shame to cut it,” Prudie had lamented then. “Pretty enough to be in a magazine.” 

It was certainly a more attractive result than the mushy booze-soaked Christmas pudding Demelza had improvised during the winter storm just the week before, but Prudie had no way of knowing about that one--she’d never been told the details of that private Christmas celebration.

And when Prudie wandered away to get her mobile to snap a photo before the cake was cut, Ross had whispered to Demelza, “Shall we light this one on fire too?” 

Demelza had struggled to contain a laugh, and then failed. She snorted which then made him laugh out loud as well.

It turned out to have been a much needed laugh of relief. In that moment they both were signaling to each other that any awkward tension after the Christmas Eve bed mix-up needn’t linger on. Indeed months had passed since that cold night together and they never spoke of it. 

But Demelza still thought of it. If she had reached out to touch Ross in the shared bed or cuddled up to him for warmth, what might he have done? Would he turn her away or was it possible that he’d pull her closer? Had she missed a once in a lifetime opportunity?

And now on this warm May night, driving with Ross through the dark Cornish countryside, Demelza wondered again. She looked at him, at his shining dark eyes, at the stubble lining his face--at his handsome face. When troubled, he could appear older than his years but others times, when he laughed or smiled, Ross had a boyishness that took her breath away. She liked that he would play games with her. She never saw him do that with anyone else. 

 _Don’t worry, Mister Ross, I forget nothin’,_ she almost said, then realised that was better kept to herself, so instead she said, “I do owe you massively, you know. I’ll make it up to you around Nampara.” 

“You already do everything I need you to. There isn’t much more you could…”

“I’ll cook dinner for a week?”

“Oh, now that’s enticing but you do that anyway. So I suppose you’ve long since paid the debt for rousing me in the middle of the night.”

“I can make you a pie?’

“What kind?” he asked, although they both knew he was not fussy.

“Any berry you’d like.”

“Deal,” he said. 

“Mister Ross, you are too nice to me,” she said softly.

“By working you to the bone and paying you next to nothing?”

“No, you always care about how I’m feelin’, that I’m okay. But maybe...well, you’re like that to everyone, I guess.”

“Close your eyes and go to sleep,” he commanded, but gently. “You have chores early in the morning, you know.”

\------

When Ross and Demelza finally pulled into the Nampara drive after depositing Mark and Keren back at their respective homes, it was almost 2AM. It had been a moonless night and the yard was pitch black once the car’s headlamps were switched off.  They made their way in the still darkness, expecting that the minute they were through the front door, a loud greeting from Garrick would shatter the quiet. Both were shocked to find a most agitated Prudie up waiting for them in the hallway instead.

“Where you be off to, in the middle of the night, and not answerin’ yer mobile?” She barked at Ross, her slippered foot tapping full speed.

“What is it?” Ross could see she was upset but it didn't seem to be about her car being taken without her permission.

“Jinny Martin rang, she’s frantic. Been trying to reach you too, girl.”

Demelza looked at her mobile and saw the battery had at last died.

“It’s Jim Carter. He’s been arrested for pilferin’ copper pipes and whatnot from the empty old houses along the river near Tregony,” Prudie explained.

“The ones my uncle bought up?” Ross asked.

“No, the ones George Warleggan is knockin’ down. He’s who had Jim arrested. Jinny thinks Jim’s being held in Truro but don’t know for sure. I rang the desk sergeant there but they can’t tell me nothin’. So we don’t know if they got him there or St. Austell--it all depends on where ‘xactly the property was.”

“Demelza, ring Jinny. Tell her I'm on my way!” Ross said no more as he turned and ventured out into the dark night again. 

The front door door closed behind him and he was gone.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Looe’s music festival is in September not May--and one is advised to wear flip flops not wellies since it takes place on the beach and not on a muddy field. 
> 
> https://www.efestivals.co.uk/festivals/looe/2016 
> 
> I took a little license here in order to move things forward. Unless you’d prefer, for the sake of accuracy, that we put off this whole chapter--and what comes next-- for a few more months?
> 
> Chapter title from Beck’s “Dream” from the album Colors (C) 2015 Fonograf Records Under Exclusive License To Capitol Records, LLC. Check out the video and lyrics here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTM3YPTYNo0


	21. A Human Standard

Demelza came in from the barn and slipped out of her boots. She was beyond tired but even if she could find the time for a little kip, she was too unsettled to fall asleep. She was waiting for Ross to return with news of Jim.

She rubbed her eyes and for the first time in her life, wished she drank coffee. She could use some help staying alert. Hot tea would have to do, so she switched on the kettle and waited, drowsy and impatient. She closed her lids for just a moment and listened for stirrings elsewhere in the house. Somewhere a door closed and a low, almost inaudible grumble flared abruptly, then stopped.

“Prudie?” she called before catching up with the housekeeper outside the parlour door. “Is he...is Mister Ross back?”

“I wouldn’t go in there, Captain Ross is in a right mood,” Prudie said to Demelza in a hushed voice.

“Oh?”

“I am not, Prudie. And I’d appreciate if you didn't speak about me as though I weren’t even here,” Ross’s voice bellowed from inside the room.

“Mister Ross! You’re home,” Demelza bustled in, ignoring Prudie’s warning. “And Jim? What have you learned? Is there something I can do? Some way I could help?”

“You could not.”

“Oh,” she said, a little crestfallen. “Do you want my cup of tea?” she asked and placed her steaming mug on the small table next to him.

“If you must know, this whole matter may be more serious than we thought. It turns out Jim was in a stolen car when he was apprehended,” Ross said ignoring her offer. He was slumped in an armchair staring into the cold grate. Outside the mid morning sky was grey--all the warm sunshine of the last few weeks seemed to have disappeared overnight.

“A car? What?” Demelza couldn’t believe it. She hovered near, aware that she should give him some space but also needing to be close, desperate for more information.

“He hadn’t stolen it of course,” Ross continued. 

“No, ‘course not,” she said.

“But he was driving it--or planning to--I don't think he’d gotten far at all when the police caught up with him. It seems Nick Vargas had stolen the vehicle last week.”

“Nick Vargas? That drunken idiot from the caravan park?” She almost laughed but there was nothing funny at all about this development.

“I don’t think it’s drink, Demelza. The man’s brain is addled from drugs--he’s a mess and has been for years. I have no idea how Jim fell into his company or when, but he swears this was all Nick’s scheme--the man had been making money stealing copper pipes for some time before he brought Jim in. And Nick, of course, is nowhere to be found. He managed to get away while Jim was a sitting duck,” Ross explained.

“Oh poor Jim! But why? Why would he resort to stealin’?” she asked, not really expecting Ross to have the answer.

“That’s another disturbing factor--Jim is going to be a father. It seems Jinny Martin is…”

“Pregnant. Yes, I know,” Demelza said soberly.

“You do?” 

“She told me first--before she told Jim even. Then he told me later.”

“And you didn't think to inform me?” Ross replied.

“Didn't really think it was my place--they both came to me in confidence, you see. Besides I’m not sure why it’s…” she tried to explain.

“My concern?”

“‘Course you are friendly-like to Jim and his family but…”

 _“My_ employee now needs wages enough to support a family and yet I can barely pay any wages at all. So he feels he must resort to breaking the law? You don't think that would trouble me?”

“No, no, I see it would. It’s just, well, it’s _more_ troublin’ for them. Especially Jinny. So no, I wasn't really thinkin’ about you at all, Mister Ross,” she said earnestly.

She was right. Ross felt repulsed by his own indulgent rant. He wasn’t the most significant player in this drama and certainly not the victim. His role was to be supportive and he didn’t have the right to wallow in any self-pity.

“But I didn’t know what Jim was up to, I swear!” she added.

“Of course you didn’t, Demelza.” Ross was confident Demelza would have decked the boy if she’d known he was doing something so stupid. 

“Did either one tell you their plans...about the child? I suppose she needn’t go through with it,” Ross said.

“No, ‘course she don’t have to, but she feels she does.”

“Do you think she’s right? What would you do?” Ross was curious.

“Not for me to say. I have no idea what she’s feelin’ or thinkin’,” Demelza shook her head.

“But you and Jim--when you were together--you always used…”

“Oh that’s not an awkward question at all, Mister Ross!” she laughed.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re right, Demelza. It was inappropriate for me to ask that so indelicately. It’s just you’ve always been open with me in the past.” 

“Oh I know, and you’ve a right to inquire, I suppose--it’s always nice to be reminded someone cares,” she managed a tired, uncertain smile. “Yes, Jim and I were careful--doubly so.” She squirmed a bit without explaining exactly what she meant but he got the gist. “But you asked what I would do. I don't really know. I wouldn't want to be a parent while tryin’ to do school--can’t see how you’d be decent at either. And money worries never help in even the best of families, do they?” 

“No, but having money and security doesn’t guarantee happiness either,” Ross huffed.

“Course not,” she said. “I’m just lucky, I guess, that I never felt so strongly for a bloke that I’d want to take that risk...I mean _in the moment_ if we couldn’t take precautions.”

Now it was his turn to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she frowned. She wouldn’t hide her irritation that he wasn’t taking her seriously.

“You just put your finger on something, Demelza. For you, as a girl, it’s about the boy first and the sex follows. But for the boy, isn’t it about the sex first?”

“No. No, it’s not,” she said, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to let this go. “I know plenty of girls who will chase down any old shag regardless of who’s offerin’ because they just like doin’ it. And I imagine there are lots of sweet boys out there who want the relationship and the love and the cuddles as much as the sex. Why do they need to hide that? I think when you tell boys--that it is just the natural consequences of their biology to be horny, then you’re lettin’ them off easy. Not holdin’ them to a higher--to a _human_ \--standard.”

“You are right, Demelza, and you amaze me for being so wise,” he said looking up at her with a weak smile.

“Was just raised right, I suppose,” she said and cocked her head playfully.

“What?” he asked, surprised. 

“By you and Prudie.” Not by Tom Carne, of course--neither of them had to say as much. “You showed me how to use my head,” she added.

She started to leave then turned around and came back to where he sat. She perched next to him again, silently, until the idea that had been coursing through her mind was sufficiently formulated. Finally she spoke.

“Mister Ross...what if they all moved in here, over the barn? Jinny and the baby, I mean. So they have private space together as a family?”

“Would you give up your room?” He dismissed her suggestion. “And where would you go? In a cupboard under the stairs? Back to Illogan?” The last words came out sharply. There seemed to be no way Ross could ever mention Demelza’s family home without inflicting some unintentional hurt. 

She looked away at once and hung her head. The arrow had apparently hit its mark.

“No, but I just figured we could figure somethin’...never mind. It was a silly idea.” She bit her lip.

“Don't say that. It was a kind and generous thought. Of course you needn't give up your room. I promised that you’d have it as long as you'd like.” He put his hand on her arm and rubbed gently, trying to reassure her. But when she looked up at him, he saw her eyes were glistening. She was carrying a burden worrying for Jim and Jinny too--this wasn’t just his concern. Without thinking about it, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“I’m just thinkin’ about what you said earlier, about me an’ Jim. It wouldn't have taken much, would it? I mean, it easily could’ve been me in Jinny’s situation,” she muttered.

“But it isn’t, Demelza. And that’s no easy fluke of fate. That’s because of conscious decisions _you_ made. Every day...you make an effort to do your best. Remember that.” He handed her back the tea, knowing she’d want it.

She sighed and with her other hand rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. Then she yawned and Ross knew the crisis had been averted. The brief flash of emotion she displayed just now didn’t irk him--but it did terrify him. He knew he couldn’t bear real tears from her today. 

“You know, Demelza, when Jim is released, I do think they’re better off living with Jinny’s family for the time being, at least until the baby is older. They’ll get more support from them than they could from us. You need to focus on school, not taking care of others. And I don’t know how to change nappies--I suspect Prudie doesn’t either.”

 _If Jim is released. If…_ It was still an uncertainty but neither dared voiced the dispiriting thought.

“Mister Ross,” she asked tentatively. “What are you thinkin’ of doin’ for Jim? For his case, I mean. Is there...hope?”

“Hope? I can’t say for sure. But I’m going to see my uncle. I assume he can at the very least recommend a good solicitor for Jim.”

“Thank you Mister Ross. I mean for carin’ for all of us,” Demelza said softly and got to her feet.

“Well Jim and Jinny should be grateful to have such a good friend as you, Demelza. Now go try to get some sleep. I’m most certainly going to need your help later.”

  



	22. The Way Things Are

Ross stood awkwardly in the grand hallway, while an unfamiliar woman--a personal assistant of some sort--went to fetch Uncle Charles. Ross remembered reading somewhere that the entranceway of a home was supposed to give a good indication of one’s personality and interests. This room, done entirely in white, was overly large, immaculately clean to the point of feeling sterile, and quite boring--an accurate reflection perhaps of these other Poldarks. 

“Mister Poldark will be with you shortly. Please have a seat?” the woman beckoned Ross into the all-white parlour after she returned. Her voice wobbled when she spoke as though she were on the verge of tears. Ross imagined working for Uncle Charles might fray anyone’s nerves, then he recalled she could be his great aunt’s assistant as well. No wonder she was distressed.

“Yes, Ross, hullo then,” Uncle Charles shuffled into the room after Ross had been waiting almost a quarter of an hour. The man’s face looked red and puffy and did not signal strong health. “Nice to have some company, since my family seem to have abandoned me…” What started as a laugh was soon lost in a fit of dry coughing.

“Thank you for seeing me. You are...alone?” Ross asked, though he knew the answer to his question. That day the rest of the house at Trenwith Road seemed very quiet and still, as though all life had temporarily been placed on hold. He saw no evidence of Elizabeth or her young son about the place. He doubted she would have stayed away from company if she were indeed at home. It would be _improper_ to ignore a guest, no matter who he was.

“Elizabeth has gone to London for a few days and has taken the boy with her. A school friend is getting married and she’s helping to pick out the...whatever there is to select. Dresses, flowers...you know the way these things are. Quite amazing, really, all her friends seem to be getting married in the past year alone. Must be the age…” Uncle Charles huffed dismissively.

Ross held his breath and said nothing. _The age_. He resented such a bald reminder of the gap between Charles and Elizabeth. Attending weddings wouldn’t be an uncommon phenomenon for a person in their late twenties, would it? It might have been so for Ross if he’d kept in closer touch with any of his own mates. Would Uncle Charles even remember a time when his friends had all paired off too? Probably not.

“Perhaps you can enjoy the quiet,” Ross managed to mutter. 

From a decanter on the side board, Uncle Charles poured himself something that looked a rich amber--and was no doubt expensive--then waved an empty glass to offer Ross one of the same. Ross shook his head.

“Uncle Charles, I’m afraid there's been a development…” Ross began.

“Phht! This is bad business, Ross,” Uncle Charles interrupted. “What will come of our family’s name?” he said soberly.

“Uncle?” Ross asked. Surely Charles wasn’t that concerned about Jim Carter’s wrongdoings.

“Verity has continued to see that... _pilot._..even though she agreed not to. She agreed! She's gone back on her word,” Uncle Charles hissed.

“I'm sure Verity hasn’t really…” But what could Ross say? Lately it seemed Verity confided in no one--not even him--so he had no news to either share or withhold from his uncle.

“What did you know of it?” Charles glared at him, as if reading his mind.

“I didn’t…” Ross stammered and then he thought better of what he might say. “I think you need to speak to your daughter.” 

“Yes, yes, in due course,” he said, then coughed another round of painful sounding rasps; Ross tried not to wince. “So what is this other thing then?” Charles said when he’d regained his composure.

“My farm hand, Jim Carter, he’s been arrested, and I was hoping for your experienced and always sound advice,” Ross said. He hated to scrape and flatter but suspected it was the only way to get his uncle to respond favourably.

“Yes, I did hear about that.”

“From George Warleggan?” Ross asked. He knew his uncle had some sort of business acquaintance with George but had assumed it wouldn’t interfere with his ability or willingness to help.

“No, not him. It was your neighbour, Hugh Bodrugan, who told me. He seemed to find it humorous,” Charles explained. “Tell me what was the actual charge?”

Ross tried to contain the rage that flared in his belly that someone--a stranger really--would find such a depressing situation funny. But he needn’t have been so shocked. Hugh Bodrugan had time and again proven himself to be an uncharitable, privileged arse. Ross could only hope his uncle might be more sympathetic.

“Theft of copper pipes for a start but I don’t know if there will be further charges,” Ross explained.

“Well, the most important thing is to get a good defence solicitor--not some slick hot shot but one with an established _local_ reputation. Who knows the magistrates and is experienced at settling things quickly.”  

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with any,” Ross replied. 

 _Would my father have been?_ Perhaps. Ross couldn’t be sure Joshua always stayed on the right side of the law. 

“Clymer...Jeffery Clymer, that's who you want. I’ll find his contact information.” Uncle Charles nodded his head in satisfaction. “You’ll stay for some supper? Agatha would be glad to see you.”

Even though he hadn’t eaten at all that day, Ross felt no hunger. He glanced at his watch--it was hours before his usual suppertime--then he remembered it wasn’t uncommon for older people to prefer their meals at an earlier hour. He was anxious to be back at Nampara, yet was afraid of appearing rude or ungrateful.

“Forgive me, and please give my love to Aunt Agatha but I am needed…”

“Elsewhere. Of course, my boy,” Charles said, and clapped Ross on the shoulder. It wasn’t an extraordinary move--almost predictable--but Ross felt it to be genuine, a gesture of support. 

And it was the most he could hope for.

\----

“Yes, yes a theft like this is usually considered negligible…” Jeffrey Clymer explained casually, leaning back in his leather desk chair.

“Negligible?” Ross asked hopefully. He was already immensely relieved that the solicitor had been able to see him that very day and wondered if Uncle Charles’s influence had anything to do with it. Ross wanted to meet this man himself, and prepare for the worst if necessary, before recommending his counsel to Jim’s mother. 

Without questioning his motives, Ross had stepped in and assumed responsibility for Jim’s case, to take much of the burden off Mrs. Carter. He knew she had counted on Jim as her eldest child and also knew that in doing so, she’d have faced much disappointment over the years. But Ross still also harboured a vague sense that in caring for Mrs. Carter, he was fulfilling a debt of sorts left by his father, Joshua Poldark. Ross couldn’t name it precisely--and wouldn’t face it even if he could. For now it sufficed to take on Jim’s battle and Mrs. Carter’s pain.

The man sitting across from him now, Jeffrey Clymer, was younger than Ross had expected. A man in forties perhaps--a little grey hair here and there but slim and fit. His office was in a historic building in Truro and was furnished with exquisite period pieces as well. A large mahogany desk, towering glass-front bookcases, chintz covered chairs and a settee all looked as though they should be roped off from the public or bear labels that said ‘Please do not touch the museum exhibit’. The only anachronism was the slim MacBook Pro open on the desk and the red fitbit on the man’s wrist.

After only a few minutes in his presence, Ross was finding the solicitor’s words reassuring.

“Negligible when considering the resulting public harm. In comparison to say, theft of metal from a church or monument or rail or public works. There was no threat to public infrastructure anyway so the impact here is quite narrow--these things matter a great deal--since the building was being pulled down anyway.” Clymer looked at Ross and gave a thin smile.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ross said and shifted uncomfortably in the elegant chair.

“Well, I’d encourage him to plead guilty at the earliest possible stage, to save the court time and money,” Clymer went on.

“Does that help?”

“Of course,” the man said, then began to type something quickly on his laptop.  

“And the process...I know little of these things...will it be quick or will it drag out for some time?”

“In magistrates’ court? Oh he’ll most likely receive his sentence the same day.”

“And what might that…” Ross almost didn’t dare ask.

“Let’s see...lesser culpability, involved through coercion with little understanding, category 3--no significant harm done to persons and goods only of medium value...we’d be looking at low level community order, Band B fine, certainly no custody,” Clymer seemed confident in his appraisal. “And are you, Mr. Poldark, prepared to continue to offer the lad employment and a residence? These things--a sense of stability and your supervision--will matter if he’s ordered probation.” 

Ross tried not to let the irritation show on his face. If it helped Jim in his sentencing to remain at Nampara, of course he wouldn’t say no. But how soon before Jinny and the baby followed? So much for the promises he’d made earlier to Demelza.

“And will you, as his employer,” Clymer continued, “be prepared to give testimony to his character if needed?”

“Of course,” Ross answered at once. How many times had Ross thought the boy an idiot? And how often had he actually uttered the words aloud? Still Jim was a good person--and mostly reliable.

“Local farmer and businessman, former soldier...yes, you’ll fill the bill. But do be sure to dress appropriately--tie and jacket and all that. You know the way these things are.”

Ross looked down at his not-quite-dirty but certainly not-clean jeans, his clunky work boots, his plaid flannel shirt--one of dozens that all looked alike--and had a flash of how others saw him. Most days he just didn’t worry about his appearance. Ross liked that the other residents at Nampara looked beyond the scruff and work attire, and accepted him for who he was. But every now and then, in moments like this one, he’d be reminded that the outside world was not as forgiving.

\----

On the day Jim’s case was to go before the magistrates' court, Demelza had helped Ross dress. He only had one decent sports jacket, in a deep blue with a subtle nub in its weave. She’d carefully ironed one of his only white shirts and chosen a grey silk tie with a pattern of interlocking knots she thought looked attractive with the blue coat. He was freshly shaven too. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his like this, and thought he looked handsome, but knew it wasn’t the time to tell him. She also thought he looked respectable and that filled her with hope.

If anyone could fix this situation it was Ross.

“Don’t worry, Mister Ross. They’ll be sure to let him go. He’s just a boy,” she said, trying to sound cheerful while fixing his knot. 

He had tied it himself but had not done a very tidy job. As anxious as he was to get out the door, he knew enough to pause and let her straighten it for him.

“Hopefully they’ll consider him that--still a boy--when he’s almost 19,” Ross replied.

“No, they’ll see Jim’s _young_ ,” she continued, “I think maybe chronological age doesn’t matter as much other kinds of learnin’. You could be a forty year old fool or a fourteen year old sage…” 

“I may have met one of those before,” he smiled softly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xxSparksxx for graciously supplying me with Clymer's name without hesitation. 
> 
> No doubt I've made some procedural errors in my account of Jim's legal ordeal, though I did try my best in my hasty research. Please forgive these mistakes in the name of keeping this story going. Mainly I consulted these sites (and had to quickly shut my laptop if anyone came across me at work looking up "What to do if you've been caught stealing?")
> 
> https://www.sentencingcouncil.org.uk/offences/magistrates-court/item/handling-stolen-goods-2/
> 
> https://www.cps.gov.uk/legal-guidance/theft-act-offences


	23. Everything Precious

Demelza stood in the dusty yard and let her gaze wander toward the road. It hadn’t yet rained but the grey sky wasn’t hiding its intentions--by afternoon the swirling dust would be oozing mud. She was anxious for Ross to return with news though she realised, no matter how often she looked for his truck, he wouldn’t be back from court for hours. She sighed and walked on to the barn where a congregation of eager goats awaited her attention.

She set to work filling the trough with fresh water and hoped she’d be distracted soon by the desperate bleating and warm nuzzling noses. In the pocket of her jersey, her mobile buzzed but when she pulled it out and saw who it, she decided at once to ignore it. Still the caller was persistent and tried again and still once more. She considered switching it off altogether but didn't want to miss a call should Ross have any updates on Jim’s case. And when it buzzed a fourth time she knew she’d have to face it at some point--she might as well get it over with now.

“What is it?” she said trying to hide her annoyance and keep her cool.

“You at Poldark’s still?” her father’s gruff voice boomed out at her.  

_What a stupid question. Where does he expect me to be?_

“Yeah?” She waited for him to get to the point.

“Well, you need to come home for awhile. I have some...business...outside the home, you see, so you need to be here to take care of things when I’m not around," he began. “Fer yer brothers,” he added.

“Oh?” she asked. This was new--and didn’t sit right with her. When she had left to live at Nampara, her brothers had been much younger. Maybe then they would have needed looking after but certainly not now. And they’d gotten on just fine without her for over two years.

“What’s changed?” she asked.

“Nothin’,” he said a bit defensively. “Just that Nel thinks--an’ I agree--that a girl oughta be at home doin’ the housework fer her own folks and not doin’ farm labour for someone else…”

“Nel?”

“Yeah, she's my fiance.”

“Yer what?” she asked. She was surprised at the news but was more surprised when she realised that she didn’t really care. It was a liberating feeling. This man’s life had become so far removed from her own, and she liked it that way.  

“Yeah, we're getting married this summer and she don't think it right that you’re livin’ with some bloke and not at home."

“I’m not livin’ _with_ Mr. Ross,” she practically spat into the phone. “I have my own room, in the servants quarters in another buildin’ altogether.”

“Still, it don’t look right. Folks might talk--he has you workin’ all hours, maybe at his beck and call, they’ll say he’s wantin’ you to grant him special favours…”

“Favours?” 

“You know what I’m talkin’ about, girl. You an’ Poldark...” he went on. 

“No.” She had no clue what he was getting at and had little interest in reading his mind.

“Sexual favours. I’m talkin’ about sinful ways.”

“Sin?! What are you goin’ on about? Mister Ross is my boss! And I’m just ‘nother one of the help, like Jim and Prudie.” 

 _Well, not Jim anymore,_ she thought.

“Hrrrh...” Tom Carne grunted in reply.

“And since when do you care about sin?” she cried. She couldn’t believe this. How could he even suggest that? 

“Just don’t want folks callin’ my daughter a slapper…”

“A what?” She was red with anger. “Seems that’s always been yer own special term for me. And when did you start carin’ what other folks say about me? Or for that matter since when did you ever care ‘bout me at all?”

“Look, it's like this. Nel is tryin’ to get her own kids back--they’re livin’ with her ex and he won’t let her see ‘em just now, even though she’s clean an’ sober. She thinks you off stayin’ with Poldark will make her look bad, you know, if social services got involved,” he explained.

“But if I’m there at home, for you to knock around, social services won’t care?” This was brilliant. He was suddenly worried about the welfare of someone else’s kids. He had never feared social services being called in all the years she lived with him.

“Now look, girl…” 

_He never did call me by my name._

Tom Carne was losing his patience and as Demelza expected, the polite facade was slipping away fast.

“There’ll be none of that. Like I said, I won’t hardly be home and you can stay outta my way. I been at Nel’s most nights. Besides you’re grown now and know yer manners so you don’t need such a firm hand.”

_Manners? Firm hand? Was that how he justified his abuse in the past?_

“And if I don’t come home?” she asked defiantly.

“Well we could make trouble for Poldark, couldn’t we?”

“What? No! Mister Ross hasn’t done nothin’!”

She had walked right into his trap. Now her father had confirmation how much she cared about Ross, how much this threat had upset her, so he’d be inspired to carry it through.  

“Yeah, we could say he’d been keepin’ you for his ‘use’ against yer will, has been for years,” he laughed a low, mean laugh.

“That’s disgustin’! You wouldn’t dare!” she shrieked. “I’d deny it and besides even if it were true, I’m old enough to consent!” She so wanted to remain calm and measured against his barbed words but she found she couldn't restrain her anger. If they’d been in the same room she would have struck him. Such an accusation targeted everything precious to her.

“Maybe now you are but not when you first started workin’ for him.”

“No! That’s a lie!”

“Or maybe we’d just say that he’d been drink drivin’...”

“Ross would never!”

“But they’d have to check all that out if it was our word against his.” He issued another malicious laugh.

If she had been thinking clearly she would have realised his threats were ridiculous. There was no way he’d risk calling attention to himself by contacting the authorities. He had far too much to lose himself. But she was too overcome with despair to see the situation rationally. 

 _Oh Mister Ross!_ she thought. Her father had her cornered; she couldn’t let him hurt Ross even if it was just with empty accusations. 

“So we’ll expect you tonight or tomorrow at the latest,” he snorted. It wasn’t a question but an order. Demelza could hear him spitting on the other end of the line and felt her stomach retch.

“Yeah,” she said and rang off without saying another word. There was nothing else to say. The whole world had just shifted, as if an earthquake had struck leaving the pavement upended and everything around her collapsed. She’d almost felt this way before but then it had only been a threat. Today the destruction was complete.

Now what? Leave the only place she’d ever truly felt was a home? The thought was unbearable. What about Prudie and Garrick and all the animals?

And leave Ross, the only person she’d ever loved in her short life, who’d shown her so much care and even tenderness? How could she?

But she thought of her father’s threats again and she knew he was stupid enough to carry them out. Ross didn’t have time to defend himself against whatever lies Tom Carne mucked up nor would he want to bother, not when he was trying to save Jim’s neck. And no doubt Ross would be cross at Demelza for having dragged him into her dirty family squabble. He’d just tell her to get on with it and go home.

 _He’ll make me go_ , she thought with utter resignation and tried to swallow the horror that her life at Nampara would be coming to such an abrupt end.

\----

Up in her room, Demelza began to shove some things into her holdall then stopped. She hadn’t been thinking carefully about what to pack now and what she should come back for later so she dumped it all out on the bed and tried again. 

Definitely her school books--she couldn’t leave those behind. Exams were coming up. Maybe she’d just start with a change of clothes for a few days and not aim to take everything straightaway. She was hopeful that she could come back and get the remainder of her belongings--maybe even visit. Perhaps she could eventually come back just to work, not to live, once school was out for the term. 

She scooped up a pile of t-shirts she wore in the stables and set those aside for later. Then remembered she’d stupidly forgotten to pack any underwear and opened her top drawer to gather what she needed.

In recent months she’d acquired a few matching sets of bras and knickers, ones that she felt were more _adult_. Originally she saw some that she fancied while out shopping with Prudie, but remembering the emphatic objections to Demelza’s bikini a few years back, she hadn’t dared to purchase them with the housekeeper looking on. These new ones Demelza had ordered online. She was relieved that she had been the one to bring in the post when they arrived and hadn’t had to explain to Prudie--or worse, to Ross--what was in the package addressed to her.  

Her favourite set was a beautiful iridescent blue green--the colour of the sea in Nampara Cove in summer time. They were trimmed with stretchy black lace and it was that contrast--bright and dark--that intrigued her. She liked the way the bra lifted her breasts ever so slightly and for the first time in her life, gave her the appearance of cleavage. The knickers had delicate stitching along the edges and while sexy, still covered most of her bum. She thought them tasteful not trashy like the thongs she knew Jinny--and Jim--liked.

Suddenly the pants seemed too fine to take to the dirty Carne household, too secret to risk being exposed by her brother's’ prying eyes. And too much of a reminder of what aspirations she had left behind.

Just what had she hoped for? She’d never admit that, not even to herself.

Her hands lingered on the smooth satin and she bit her lip as conflicted thoughts raced through her mind.

Impulsively she shed her jeans and pink cotton knickers, and wiggled out of the sports bra she’d been wearing under her grey jersey. After she slipped into the blue green silky underwear she stood for a moment alone in her quiet room. She dared not look in the mirror. It wasn’t about how she looked, but how she felt. 

_Special, indulged, worthy of something pretty. Worthy of love._

This wasn’t for anyone else but for her. But it didn't feel right in the moment to hide these under her work clothes. Instead she searched out her favourite lightweight white blouse, made of soft cotton lawn, tailored just a bit with little pin tucks that flattered her waist. Then she pulled on a mid thigh length floral skirt, something she’d found recently at the vintage clothing shop in Perranporth. It was constructed of several layers of sheer floral-patterned chiffon that she'd assumed was just rayon but later when she read the label, discovered was actually silk. She’d never felt anything so delicate and when she spun around or moved swiftly, the skirt would swish and flow like a dancer’s costume. She’d also learned, to her embarrassment, that she needed to avoid wearing it on windy days. Today the fine fabrics gently caressed her skin, and unlike her usual attire, both garments begged to be touched.

Now she did venture back to the mirror. Pleased by how the black lace trim of the bra subtly showed through the semi sheer blouse, she unbuttoned another button and smiled. She fumbled for the plastic case that held her small collection of cosmetics and went to work.

Sometimes she wore a little mascara to school but not much else. And she had few occasions to get really made up--not since she’d gone to the disastrous dance with Jim, really. Even when she went out with other boys, which was not very often, she preferred to stay natural and not bother. Now she put on dark lipstick and also smokey eye shadow and liner, and even though she lacked experience, wasn’t displeased with the results.

Her last indulgence was to pull out the black heels that she hadn’t touched for over a year and slip them on her rough bare feet.

When exactly would be the next time she’d have a chance to dress up, to care about her appearance, to feel good about herself? She couldn’t say but imagined it would be in the distant future, not until she broke free from her father and managed to leave his home for good. Oh the jeers she’d have to endure were the Carnes to see her preening, calling attention to her looks! No, the only way to survive in that household was to become invisible. Again.

Demelza laid on her back across her bed and closed her eyes. As bereft as she was, she wouldn’t break down and cry, but she did suddenly feel very tired. She stayed there, motionless, while the room grew dim around her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always I'm grateful to Winston Graham and Debbie Horsfield for their inspiring Poldark creations. These characters, relationship dynamics, setting, even bits of dialogue are theirs. Thanks for letting me play with them!
> 
> I'm nervousladytraveler over on tumblr if you want to talk more.


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